Faith, MotG Story 5
by Kayzel
Summary: Faith, kismet, the supernatural. Intangible notions perceived as concrete, as reachable, touchable. Desire for the impossible outweighing any sense of practicality. Yet conversely, how quick to disbelieve when presented with an actual, unequivocal truth.
1. Chapter 1

_Sequentially this story follows my __**Monarch of the Glen**__ fan fictions titled, __**Assumptions,**__ MotG Story 1; __**A Thousand Miles,**__ MotG Story 2; __**The Unexpected Arrivals of Winter**__, MotG Story 3; __**Dear Duncan**__, MotG Story 4._

_I do not own any of the Monarch of the Glen characters or their respective worlds, but have enjoyed creating this fan fiction._

Allie Gace, William McGinty and a few other minor characters are of my own creation.

********

**Faith**

_**Chapter 1 **_

_**Worries & Uncertainties**_

"Ha-zel…" Sitting in the glass-encased alcove of her kitchen's tiny dinette area, her feet propped up comfortably on a worn pleather banquette first time Aunt Lizzie MacDonald stretched out the pronunciation of her niece's name to fully appreciate its sound. She decided she liked it, thinking it unique and as pretty as the jungle of overgrown plants presently surrounding her. All manner of flora seemed to thrive in the makeshift greenhouse environment provided by this little nook, without—and this was the most fortunate part—any extra due attention from her, this corner being favored by the sun for most of the day. Definitely her favorite spot in the house office paraphernalia such as a slim ceramic pencil holder, colorful blocks of sticky notes and endless piles of paper, the rudiments of her former, present and always-in-flux work situation in public relations sat alongside common kitchen staples like a wooden napkin dispenser and jars and shakers of condiments. Holding a portable phone firmly between her shoulder and cheek, Lizzie tried hard not to think about how ergonomically-incorrect this positioning was for her neck and upper back, though it did free her hands nicely enabling her to fold them around a warm beaker of tea.

"Yes ha-ha! That's exactly what I said!" Standing alone in Glenbogle's wide, dusky entry hall Molly MacDonald chuckled softly, innocently. Her right hip pressed against a dark carved-wood telephone table, she ran her fingers idly over its thick marble-topped surface.

"Nnno Mummy, I believe you've misunderstood me. I think it's a fabulous name!"

"Oh um," Molly placed the telephone receiver near her chest mid-conversation, rolling her eyes and biting her lower lip. They'd only been chatting for mere minutes but already she and her daughter Lizzie had had several tiffs. Though a normal occurrence for the pair Molly had been holding out hope for some time now that one day they'd manage to have a completely civil conversation, two rational adults chatting pleasantly. Until then and as always Molly took a deep, marginally-calming breath, rejoining her daughter who was still speaking on the line.

"And you don't well surprise, surprise! Yet another thing we disagree about. What? Were you expecting another family name perhaps? There is my Martha you know. Ah-ha! I get it now! Martha was named after Father's Mum and I bet you were hoping that Archie would name his first born after someone on your side of the family! Yes that's it, isn't it? You're keeping a tally. MacDonald's one, McLean's zero."

"Don't be silly, Lizzie that's not how I feel at all. Please don't put words in my mouth. Actually the baby is named after Lexie's maternal great-grandmother. So it is a family name after all."

"And my younger brother didn't have any objections to that, did he?"

"Well apparently not. Lexie's his wife, Lizzie. Her family is his family now, too. Anyway Hazel is a beautiful, healthy baby and really that's all that matters!"

"Yes, well said, mother." Pouring another cup of herbal tea, Lizzie sipped the strong, hot brew heartily, steeping herself in its smell and steam. Natural tearomatherapy, she liked to call it. Though a far cry from the mood-altering substances she dabbled with in her youth she found it was as equally transformative for the mind without any of the nasty side effects and fuzziness all too commonly experienced when inhaling or ingesting actual recreational drugs. "So tell me," hoping to relieve some of the mounting tension Lizzie changed the subject to one she deemed more neutral, "how was your Mediterranean trip?"

"Oh, it was glorious!" Molly's voice became lively, sparking up at the chance to relive the recent holiday she had taken with her brother Jolyon. "We spent most of the time in Greece sailing the turquoise seas, basking in the warm Mediterranean sun and learning all about their culture. It was simply fascinating. I brought along this new digital camera Archie and Lexie had given me before the journey. I think it holds something like 600 images—or possibly even more—I'm not that technically-savvy as you know, but I bet I took just as many."

"Sounds like you had a lovely time. And how's Uncle Jo?"

"He's quite well, but you know Jolyon, Lizzie. He'll never change and I dare say he'll never settle down. As we speak he's off traveling again to some exotic place or other. Whereas me? I'm glad to be safely returned back to the comfort of my own home."

"But you say that like it's a bad thing, not wanting to settle down, I mean. The world is rich with things to see and do. Why anyone wouldn't cherish the opportunity to do so is beyond me. Guess I know where I get my wanderlust from then, eh?"

"Hmm yes, I suppose so but when one has responsibilities," Molly's voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry?"

"No it's nothing, Lizzie. But speaking of traveling are you planning to come and visit your new little niece any time soon?"

"Yes, especially since Martha has a school holiday coming up. Oh and I'm sure Jimmy will be able to get some time off from work too." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Oh Mother, you're impossible, you know that?"

"What?" Molly fretted with the frayed hem of her taupe-colored sweater.

"See this is why I stay away for such long periods of time!" Lizzie slid her feet off the banquette. The wall of windows behind her, no doubt aided by her angry outbursts had begun to fog. _You're full of hot-air_, _Lizzie_, her father used to jokingly chide.

"What is it I've done now, dear?"

"Aargh!" Lizzie's anger-tinged tone escalated, "You're already passing judgment on a man that you've never met before, whom you know nothing about!"

"Oh, Lizzie I'm doing no such thing. You're just being overly sensitive as…"

"As what, mother as usual? Go on say it for goodness sake!"

"Fine, if I must defend my comments I will. Who isthis Jimmy person anyway, Lizzie? Because let's face it you haven't fared very well in the romance department, have you?"

"Oh here we go! And it's entirely my fault, is it?" Slamming down the beaker of tea, its contents, Lizzie's precious liquid calm sloshed onto the table, spilling out into several little puddles, like her emotions all come undone.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to!"

"But yes," Molly interrupted. Though she hadn't wanted to resort to yelling, Molly found it impossible to hold herself back. "When it comes right down to it, you're the one making all of the decisions, aren't you? Oooh, listen Lizzie I really don't want to spend my time arguing with you! That certainly wasn't my intent when I rang. Visit. Don't visit. Do as you please or see fit. You always have done!" With her voice more in check Molly added, "You know you are always welcomed here. Please tell _Martha My Love_ I was asking after her. I do really hope we see the two—or three—of you very soon."

Nearly shaking, Molly hung up the phone and the loud bang echoed throughout the hall. Pressing her hands on the edges of the cold marble surface of the table she squared herself against it, exhaling with great force, feeling as physically worn out as if she'd just run a 5K. The conversation, a hard-fought emotional marathon and test of wills was one in which both she and Lizzie had, it had seemed, lost.

"Molls? Are you all right?"

"What?" Molly responded hazily. "Oh yes, Donald, yes I'm fine." Turning to face her brother-in-law she realized he was waiting on more of an answer. "I've just rung off with Lizzie, you see."

"Ah," Explanation enough, Donald raised his bushy, unkempt brows. "She seems a free spirit, that one." His look had turned to one of concern. "You shouldn't let her get to you so, my dear."

"I know Donald, I know," Molly shook her head in agreement then drew her arms tightly across her body as if fending off a chill. "I try to maintain my calm, really, I do but she just frustrates me so and has this way of getting under my skin! She knows exactly which buttons to push and is never willing to listen! She thinks she knows it all and is every ounce as stubborn and hot-tempered as Hector ever was!"

"Mm-hmm the proverbial apple didn't fall far from the old, unbendable MacDonald tree, did it? Well," Donald took Molly gently by an elbow as he spoke, "I was just about ready to pop down to the _Ghillie's Rest_ for a wee dram. I don't know why but there's just something about the taste of liquor on one's tongue that does wonders to help clear the mind and solve away some of life's ills. What's say old girl you come along with me, hmm?"

Molly hemmed and hawed for a moment, brushing at the front of her sweater, trying in vain to smooth down her hair. _If only it were that simple,_ she thought to herself. But staring up into Donald's expectant face where a trace of his classic, infectious smile was waiting to emerge she suddenly became more resolute and surprised herself with her response. "You know Donald I think that's exactly what I need!"

"Grand!" Donald beamed, delighted at the chance to escort his sister-in-law who was still, in his eyes, just as lovely as on the day they first met, many, many moons before.

_**Outer Property Glenbogle Estate**_

Golly MacKenzie just happened to be passing by the grounds which immediately surrounded Glenbogle proper when something had caused him pause. As Head Ghillie for the entire estate there wasn't anything particularly unusual about him being in this area of the property. He had, in fact, worked the lands nearly all his life and as such a comfortable relationship between him and the MacDonald family had gradually been forged, especially with the former laird, the late Hector whom Golly had simply, but reverently called _Boss_. This close relationship, which quite often meant Golly's presence would be required inside the house for one reason or another had served them all well over the years and though he was grateful for and respected the importance of this association Golly also knew his place. After all he was, when it came right down to it, a hired hand.

At this very moment however, his work having been halted for no apparent, obvious reason it would have appeared to anyone observing him that he was just standing there staring. _Loitering_, his father would have called it. But in truth this hard-working, diligent man who'd probably never had the adjective slacker uttered in reference to him save maybe in his youth wasn't just standing and staring at all. He was watching. Watching suspiciously the rogue Donald MacDonald as he, in all his pompousness and affectations ushered Molly out of the house and across the front drive. Arm in arm no less. Donald could and did fake the part of debonair charmer rather successfully but the polished air he projected to the rest of the world usually born of wealth—of which he'd none and of good-breeding—of which he'd had plenty, did little to fool Golly. Donald's outwardly slick sheen only served to mask the true character that lay beneath, the murky, tainted soul of a cad whom Golly had know since they'd been lads.

Securely hidden from view behind a tall row of neatly sculpted hedges the ghillie spied with disgust the couple's friendly, relaxed manner and he perfunctorily fished from a pocket of his leather jacket a set of worry beads, the Grecian souvenir—a small but certainly not insignificant gift Molly had brought back for him from her Mediterranean trip_. Komboloi_, she had called them. He dangled them loosely from the middle finger of his left hand where they lightly grazed the flat of his palm. He found he was getting the hang of maneuvering them and just as Molly had shown him, he flicked his wrist quickly, flipping the strand up onto his knuckles, and then using his thumb he glided the squarish amber beads one by one over his index finger and smoothly along the tiny gold chain. The slow, rhythmic motion and faint click-click-click sound, nearly hypnotic. When he came to the end of the string Golly swung the weighted chain round to restart the process but instead slipped the beads back into his pocket.

He had counted enough worries for the day.

_**Glenbogle Village**_

Allie Gace took one more turn around the store. The wooden floorboards creaked noisily beneath her feet as she made her way but it was a pleasant, familiar sound. The tiny catch-all shop, similar to those found in any small town where all the necessities one could hope to find or didn't even know they were searching for were all neatly arranged in one place, every free space efficiently utilized. She could have stayed in the shop for hours taking in the earthy scents of tobacco and dried heather and listening to the traditional Scottish music playing softly in the background. But it was getting late and she was eager to find her way back to the Bed & Breakfast before the impending darkness set in. In the morning she'd be having her first important face-to-face meeting with her book publisher and she wanted to be well-rested.

Having already coasted past the rows of novelty items, selected an interesting jar from the shelves of locally-produced preserves and chutneys and even chosen a small box of _Walker's_ shortbread with its recognizable red plaid tin—surely set out to catch the eye of Americans like herself; all that remained on her list were postcards. Remembering where she'd spotted the rack Allie headed to the front of the store. As she passed by the counter the clerk, who was working on a crossword puzzle while tucking into what appeared to be his meager dinner of cheese, bread and cold meats, a ploughman's Allie thought—one of those small tidbits of information she'd gleaned from watching English programs on public television, he glanced up, preparing to offer his assistance. When she pointed to the rack of cards situated to the left of the counter he smiled warmly and nodded, indicating for her to take her time. Returning his attention to the puzzle he pushed the half-eaten plate of food off to the side.

Balancing her shopping basket on her left arm Allie used her free right hand to spin the rack and sort through the post cards but in her haste to find that one perfect picture she accidentally twirled the rotating stand a bit too hard, knocking it off-balance. And as it goes with accidents, Allie, realizing there'd be no feasible way for her to stop the stand from falling to the floor imagined it toppling before her as if in slow motion. Closing her eyes she anticipated the inevitable, loud crash. This didn't happen.

Luckily someone entering the store had caught the display rack. Just in the nick of time.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2 **_

_**Kismet**_

"Whoa!"

"Oh," in the split second that passed, Allie opened her eyes to find a tall man righting the nearly upended stand. "I'm so sorry, thanks for catching it! I guess I don't know my own strength!"

"It's no problem at all!" Kneeling down the man began picking up the glossy cards that had been jostled loose from the rack.

"Oh please, let me get those, it's the least I can do."

Ignoring her protests, he picked up the last of the cards and began sorting through them. "You're American, are ye?"

"Yup. Guilty as charged." Allie watched the handsome stranger who appeared to be in his late 30's and was sporting a rugged leather jacket and a flat-topped, jet-black cap with braided trim around the visor carefully place each card into its correct spot. His own tongue, though as unfamiliar as Allie was with the different dialects of the area sounded more English than Scottish. "Well," she hesitated, "thanks again." Moving to the counter, Allie started removing her items from the shopping basket, apologizing to the owner for causing such a ruckus.

"Hold up," Allie glanced back and the tall man tipped his hat, "Didn't catch your name." Surprised, Allie suddenly felt uncomfortable with the stranger's familiarity and sensing this, he offered her a bit of an explanation. "Aye, you see it's an old Scottish custom. Save a lass in distress, you earn the right to know her name."

"Hmm," Allie laughed nervously, "So I'm a damsel in distress, huh?"

"No, a lass in distress. Big difference, that."

Allie could hear the store clerk snickering and she thought to herself _chivalry isn't dead after all_. "Forgive me for saying so," she teased, "but you don't really sound any more Scottish than I do. And I'm pretty sure that's a Greek fisherman's cap you're wearing."

"Ah, right," this time it was the man who was taken slightly aback. Paul Bowman did indeed come from solid Scottish stock although he hadn't always known this.

Discovering his father's identity, the knowledge of which had been kept from him for nearly 40 years his emotions had been mixed and were still a tad raw. Paul had been born a _bastard_. Though an archaic moniker to be sure, the harsh reality that this cruel term implied, constantly whispered and gossiped about amongst the villagers kept it very fresh in his mind. The paternal side of his family—the MacDonald side—were the centuries-old landowner's of the vast acreages known as Glenbogle an area which encompassed the very soil that they were standing on. While the Bowman side, right down to and probably ending with his mother's service as a housekeeper on the Glenbogle estate had probably long been hires of the MacDonald family for just as long. Seeking out a better life and perhaps even running away out of confusion and shame, the hard-working single-mother Megan Bowman had established herself and her baby in the north of England, Yorkshire, to be exact. It was this northern upbringing that accounted for Paul's thick, clipped accent, an oddity amongst the deeply rolling r's of the lyrically smooth Scottish brogue.

"Well," Paul said heavily, "it's a long story. Actually it's really a story better saved for another time. I assure you, though my heritage is 100% Scottish!" He smiled and seemed to Allie quite genuine.

"I see. So you're a thoroughbred then?"

"I guess," he paused and snorted a light laugh, "in a manner of speaking yes, I 'spose I am."

"Oh," Paul touched the brim of his hat remembering Allie's second observation, "And as for the cap? It's common enough attire for men on the coast, fishermen, old salts and the like. But mine was a gift."

"Are you ready, miss?" The store clerk had begun ringing up her purchases.

"Yes, I'm all set, thank you. Excuse me, please."

"Here," the stranger slid an upside-down post card across the counter toward the clerk, tapping it, "she forgot that one." Eyeing him skeptically, the clerk shrugged and placed it with the others Allie had chosen.

While she was finishing up with her transaction, Allie could see out of the corner of her eye that the chatty guy was still standing there, leaving her no choice but to have to face him once again.

"So are you…" Allie's new friend tried to restart their conversation.

"I'm," Allie paused, "visiting and listen I don't mean to be rude but I've come by foot—to the store, I mean, obviously not to Scotland," the nervous laughter resurfacing, "If I have half a shot at finding my way back to where I'm staying I'd better start out now while there's still some semblance of daylight left!"

"Right—well," Paul thought quickly, "I can give you a lift! Or better yet, be your personal escort! Pete here," he pointed to the store clerk, "will verify my credibility." Pete simply shrugged and smiled as if to say, sure, why not.

"I'm certain he can but thanks all the same I think I'll be fine."

As she made her way to the exit, her new friend made one last attempt, "Well I still owe you that story."

Allie looked puzzled for a moment, "Oh, you mean the one about your heritage? Ah, I guess it'll have to keep!"

Tipping his cap again, he nodded. And Allie left the store, smiling to herself.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Archie and Lexie had given much thought to which room would be transformed into a nursery and then later converted to a child's bedroom. With a house the size of Glenbogle one would think this an easy problem to solve. On the contrary, each proposed idea presented a new set of considerations. Hector's old room, lying adjacent to Archie and Lexie's bedroom at first appeared to be the perfect choice. They'd already been using the vacant room to store most of the nursery furniture and this had proven to be quite accommodating since Hazel's crib was currently set up in her parents' bedroom. But their desire to choose a room conducive to bright, cheerful colors meant the milky, garnet-hued walls of Hector's room, so comely being offset by all of the polished wood would indeed be too solemn and subdued. Although redecorating wasn't entirely out of the question Archie felt strongly that the integrity of the rooms, any of which they chose to refurbish in the house should stay intact, thus rendering Hector's not the best of spaces after all.

For energy efficiency reasons entire sections of the estate had also been closed off and though Archie was in the habit of taking a walk-through once every month, noting new problems and maintaining existing ones these rooms were certainly off-limits. As were those situated near mysterious doors behind which spiral staircases hid, ones that wound their way temptingly up and down into the vast unknown for what seemed to be miles.

So it was to the guest quarters that they next looked, at a cozy pair of rooms that instead of looking out over the shimmering loch faced the front lawn and drive, sure to capture the first rays of early morning sun.

_**Upper Corridor, Glenbogle Estate**_

"Nyeeer…nyeeer…nyeeer…beep, beep!" With his Goddaughter Hazel nestled securely in both arms Duncan McKay made his way down an upstairs hall, weaving this way and that, twisting his elbows up and down, narrowly missing another estate worker, the young chef Ewan Brodie. Stopping just outside the doors to two of the guest rooms he slowly rocked the baby back and forth.

"Beep, beep? Planes don't go beep, beep, Dunc. And just how is it that I get stuck hauling all of this furniture and stuff with Archie? Mind you, it's not the mucking in that bothers me, I knew when I took the job that everyone's duties overlap a bit but how is it you get to play airplane with the wee one?"

"Because I'm her Godfather," said Duncan dramatically, "Besides, I never get to see her. That's a responsible job I have as Head Ranger. I'm hardly ever up at the Big House, well apart from the grounds and maybe the kitchen. So any chance I get to spend with Hazel I take it, mate." Duncan made a few clucking noises while the baby cooed contentedly.

"Aye, I can understand that." With a loud thud Ewan put down the heavy box he'd carried down the long hall and stepped forward to talk to the baby. "My job will come later, Hazel when you're a bit older. Good 'ol Uncle Ewan will tell you which boys to stay away from," he looked up at Duncan, "all of 'em," they both joked in unison. "Where's Paul, anaway? Thought he was supposed to be helping with the move too?" Ewan started pushing the box with his feet, alternating legs until he'd slid it across to the alcove between the two bedrooms. He opened the door on the right and entered a tiny room which was wallpapered in an all-over pattern of pink flowers with leaves in two shades of green. It had a fireplace at one end and a single window at the other.

"Don't know, think he said he had something to take care of down in the village." Hazel began fussing.

"What? You mean there's something more important to do than this?" Ewan emerged from the room and picked up the box, heading for the bedroom on the left. As he walked by Duncan he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, "That room must be Hazel's."

*******

Archie backed slowly out of his bedroom inch-by-inch carrying one end of Hazel's crib while Lexie managed the other end trying her best to guide her husband through the tricky space, shunning the oft-spoken theory that even off-road women drivers are, well, women drivers! They'd only moved a short distance when Archie motioned for them to stop.

"What?!" Lexie shouted, exasperated.

"You know we could have done this move tomorrow, or better yet, on Saturday."

"We should have had this already done by now! Hazel needs a proper nursery and we need to have our own space too, Arch. Now lift!"

As they resumed their trek, passing through a doorway and veering to the left they saw Molly bouncing up the stairs and waltzing down the hall toward them. "Hello there, dears."

"Molly? You seem rather happy."

"Ah, I've just had the most enjoyable evening, Lexie."

"With who?" Archie said with concern in his voice.

"With _whom_, dear, _whom_, always remember proper English and good manners," Molly stifled a burp, "Excuse me!" She chuckled, "proper English and good manners are always the most important things. Oh, Archie there's no need to look so worried. I was with your Uncle Donald."

"Donald? Wait our Donald? Donald MacDonald, Donald?" Lexie said with a laugh.

"Yes Lexie, our Donald MacDonald. My Donald MacDonald. Glenbogle's Donald MacDonald." Molly spoke with flair, waving her hand about and then she spotted the baby cot. "Oh, that's right, you're moving to your new quarters in the other wing. A bit late to be moving things, isn't it? Well, no mind. I would help you but I must get up early for a meeting in town tomorrow and I'm sure you two have everything under control. Nighty-night."

As Molly appeared to float away to her bedroom, Archie turned back to Lexie. "Was she drunk?"

"Well no, I wouldn't say drunk, a little tipsy perhaps," Lexie giggled. Archie did his best not to scowl.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

_**The Meeting**_

_**Early the next morning**_

_**Bed & Breakfast, Glenbogle Village**_

Although Allie was a morning person, she found herself zoning out as the overly friendly B & B hostess rattled on about the latest daily gossip. That Allie didn't know any of the people about whom she spoke did not seem to matter, nor did it deter her in the least. She had tried to explain that her meeting with the publisher was 'over coffee' but Liz, as she was told to call the proprietress, insisted that she have at least something before leaving. So, along with the healthy dose of advice that Liz was also apparently serving that morning, Allie settled on a strong cup of black coffee—because that was something she simply couldn't do without and half of an admittedly delicious raspberry scone, allowing her companion to continue droning on.

Something else was occupying Allie's mind or, more accurately,someone. The tall man she had flirted with the night before.

_**Kitchen, Glenbogle Estate**_

"Oh, Ewan, I've such a dreadful headache."

"You can't be keeping those late hours, Molly. Who were you out partying with, anaway?"

Having draped her upper body across the wooden center table, Molly straightened her back, sitting up prim and proper as best she could, "I wasn't out partying last night."

Placing two tablets and a glass of water on the table in front of her, Ewan smirked, "Aye, what you need Molly is a tried and true hang-over cure. The Brodie Bloody Mary!"

"Excuse me, dear; I do not have a hang-over!"

"Right, well think of this as a liquid breakfast then, all right?"

"Ewan, no I don't think I could possibly stomach anything."

Molly's protests falling on deaf ears, Ewan was already busy adding a dash of this and a pinch of that to a large glass of tomato juice, topping it all off with two drops of hot sauce—just the right amount, and a frilly-leafed stalk of celery.

"There!" He presented the concoction to Molly.

Donald entered the kitchen looking the clashing-side of dapper in an off-beige three-piece suit with a bright yellow bow tie, a red and black dotted handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket and a bright pink carnation stuck in the collar's buttonhole.

"Ah! A Bloody Mary, what a good idea, might I have one, too? I haven't had one of those in years! Molly! And how are we this morning, Molls?" As Donald took a seat at the kitchen table, he could see for himself just how well she was. "Oh dear me," he glanced sheepishly at Ewan.

"Och! You were the one that Molly was out with last night? You know, I've half a mind to!"

"Ewan, please no yelling. Give the drink to Donald. I really couldn't touch it and it's a shame for it to go to waste, I'm sure it's delicious."

"Mmmmm" Donald greedily accepted the beverage, taking a healthy, slurping sip. An orangey-red film remained clinging unappealingly to his upper lip which, to Ewan's disgust, Donald removed with one sloppy swipe of his tongue.

Golly MacKenzie entered the kitchen from the opposite end, clearing his throat to garner attention.

"Golly!" Molly stood suddenly, nearly knocking over her stool. "Oh, thank heavens you remembered I needed a ride this morning. I can always count on you."

"Yes, you can."

"I didn't know you needed a ride, Molly. Where to? I could zip you around in my speedster anytime," Donald offered. "It's a great deal classier a ride than that beat-up Land Rover."

"The Land Rover is fine!" Golly, barked, his voice tense, his words terse. "It's dependable and hard-working!"

"Yeh, not showy and vacant up top ahem like the speedster," Ewan added cheekily under his breath.

"Boys, please! Remember my headache. Thank you for the offer, Donald, maybe some other time. A joy ride, perhaps?"

Hearing this, Donald was immensely satisfied. Holding back any further comments he stirred his drink with the celery stalk, his pinky finger high in the air.

_**Baxter's Bakery, Glenbogle Village**_

Being the first to arrive for the meeting at _Baxter's Bakery_, Allie chose a table in the middle but a little off to the side, settling in a seat facing the entrance. She could hear herself breathing in and out in short, quick breaths, a sure sign she was letting her nerves get the best of her. Attempting to keep from focusing on herself, Allie scanned the passerby through one of the large plate-glass windows, searching for a familiar face. Although she had never met her publisher, William McGinty, in person, she had seen his crisp LCD likeness via the miracle of modern technology in web-conferences set up by her agent, Sherry and also attended by _Plume & Co.'s_ editor, Frederick J. Stanley. William McGinty was a pleasant sort of man, and unlike Allie and the editor himself, who both tended to err too heavily on the pessimistic side of things, Bill was damn-near always positive.

She was still quite unsure of exactly why a meeting had been arranged, as it was highly unusual to meet with the publisher sans agents or other staff to begin with but, then again, that was Bill. Unconventional, Bill McGinty, the very same man whom, upon hearing that Allie would certainly be in his neck of the woods come April and May, managed to have his people persuade her people into sharing her itinerary. All she could do now was hope for the best.

Regardless of the fact that her manuscript hadn't merely surfaced from the depths of _Plume & Co.'s_ vast slush pile but was actually requested personally by the editor, she feared it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. For the first time, she had reasoned, Frederick J. Stanley's keen instincts for discovering new authors was off. He had made a huge, whopping mistake and therefore, Bill with his aura of optimistic energy was simply going to let her down easily, in person, face-to-face.

Pushing aside these negative thoughts, Allie listened to the chatter around her. Not to actual snippets of conversations, but rather just to the lyrical lilt of the Scottish accent, letting her mind wander. On her walk to the coffee shop she thought she had seen the handsome man in the fisherman's cap once again. It annoyed her that her stomach had tightened at the prospect of seeing him and that she felt disappointment when discovering it hadn't been him after all.

Never the type to attract one night stands or even to have casual flings, Allie wasn't about to start throwing caution to the wind. She attracted more people with her wit and good graces, or so she was told, than she did with any captivating physical attributes. True, there was that dimple on her cheek that could only be seen when she smiled, and she definitely gauged the degree to which she wished to flash it given the circumstance, but the only people it seemed to endear were older men. They always seemed to notice and it was with them that she safely practiced the intricate nuances of flirting, gaining confidence as they leaned in a little closer to listen to her speak, no doubt just as eager to have the attention themselves.

So it was unusual for someone to openly come on to her as the stranger had and being caught off guard Allie had felt unprepared, her filters and defenses down. She was both intrigued and flattered by his interest but at the same time she fluffed it off as being no big deal. And given that she was only to be in the country for a short time, this was probably for the best.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Archie woke to find Lexie missing from their bed and assumed correctly that she was in the nursery with Hazel. It was much later in the morning than he'd realized and he was groggy and edgy and instead of hopping out of bed to greet the day he sat up slowly, acquainting himself with their new digs. The L-shaped room with a niche just big enough for a bed and two small night stands was the most frequently readied quarters when guests stayed at Glenbogle, but it wasn't nearly as spacious as their former bedroom with the large bay windows. Not that it really mattered to him because he could sleep just about anywhere, even in the back of the Land Rover, which he'd done once with Katrina when they'd run out of petrol and had become stranded on a rarely used highland road. He remembered the time vividly, because she was both excited and bewildered, meeting her biological father, Harold Xavier, for the first time. Archie wasn't dating Katrina then; in fact it was just after he'd moved back home and he was still seeing Justine—his former steady girl—long distance, but his conscience had been clear because nothing had happened between them. Actually, something had happened between them, he and Katrina had started falling for one another. But that was all in the past now.

A restlessness that had lain dormant within him for the longest time had been reawakened. It had all started the year prior, just before Lexie's birthday when he and his mother had been at odds. Molly had suggested he reconsider settling in at Glenbogle, to stay only if he truly wanted to and not out of a sense of loyalty or duty. Then Lexie announced that she was pregnant. Home, his home, was always where he could see himself raising his children. Archie hadn't known that he wanted to settle down and start a family or that he was even ready for any of it, but life just sort of happened—to him.

Over the Christmas holiday he was so caught up with visitors and the arrival of his cousin Paul, he didn't have time to sit and stew. He felt useful and important running a household with his wife while also maintaining the business and financial aspects of the estate. But the difficulties with Hazel's birth brought things into perspective for him. The thought that he could have lost both, mother and daughter, wife and child had scared him. This was real life, his real life. He was very fortunate to have all that he did and he should have felt content. And to be certain, he was.

But, somewhere in the far reaches of his unsettled mind, the part of him that still perhaps wished he had never had to leave London in the first place, something was gnawing at him. It was in the words Katrina had spoken when they had met unexpectedly at the Convention in Inverness. _"I've parlayed my gift of gab into a well-paying, exciting career."_ She had told him,_ "Not a job, Archie a _career!" Didn't _he_ once have a _career_? Hadn't _he_, along with Justine, been voted one of London's top ten up and coming new restaurateurs to watch out for? It wasn't all about the money or the fame. It was about building a restaurant from the ground up without the use of his family's money or a trust fund, as many had assumed, which in reality didn't exist. It was about pride and honor and blazing one's own trail.

Archie hated himself for feeling this way. He just wasn't sure that Glenbogle was where he wanted to be anymore.

_**Baxter's Bakery**_

About 10 minutes had gone by since Allie had arrived at the bakery and her mind was still awash with conflicting thoughts so it was quite a relief when a medium height, smartly-dressed man with wavy hair and a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard and mustache entered the shop, waving in her direction. He was escorting a woman who was just as smartly-dressed wearing a pretty tartan wrap draped across her shoulders and carrying some sort of large attaché. As they approached the table, Allie stood to greet them, wondering who the woman could possibly be. Was it Bill's secretary? Or, since she'd never heard mention of a Mrs_._ McGinty, perhaps his fiancée? She appeared much too personable to be a mere girlfriend, if indeed people aged over thirty even called companions boy or girl friends.

"Allie? How good, to finally meet you in person." Bill's voice, deep and rich was more that of a burly man then one of his stature, but his piercing green eyes, even more of a vivid emerald in person looked directly into hers and danced with warmth and humor. "And this is," he stepped back a bit so the woman could move forward, "Molly MacDonald. Molly, this is Allie Gace."

They all exchanged pleasantries and sensing that Allie was feeling a bit apprehensive, Bill suggested they all take a seat and get the meeting underway. After ordering a pot of coffee and an assortment of pastries for the table, he addressed Allie with the enthusiasm of a school boy. "We've chosen Molly to be the illustrator for you children's book."

So that was it? All of that worry about the worthiness of her manuscript, the frustration when yet another celebrity announced that they had written a children's book, cynically assuming that they were published because of their bankroll and not because their work was actually up to par, when she had worked so hard for years to produce one slim tome of not more than 500 carefully chosen words, was all for naught. He was introducing the illustrator, a choice over which Allie had absolutely no influence. Another stellar example of the frustrating limitations of the complex literary business, a business that she was growing somewhat accustomed to the more she became involved.

"Yes, and I must say," Molly interrupted Bill's announcement and Allie's silent commentary, "It's a charming story. Did you always have Scotland in mind as the setting?"

Allie took a moment to process the information before her. She'd known nothing about Scotland save for a book she'd read several years before. "To tell you the truth, Mrs. MacDonald, no, I hadn't. Actually, I really didn't have any specific place in mind. What I'd conjured up was a cobbled-together image of all that meant enchantedto me. But now that I've seen some of Scotland's countryside I can see that it is very enchanting. It must be an inspiring place."

"Oh, yes it is, and please, do call me Molly," she said with a wink. "I am very fortunate to live amongst such beautiful surroundings."

"And that Allie is one of the reasons I was so pleased to hear that you were planning this trip!" Bill spoke up again, slapping the table with his hand and turning his whole body to face her. "I've known Molly for years; her husband's family has been landowner's here for centuries. You should see her home and its environs! Glenbogle is a captivating place." Allie was listening to Bill intently but the name Glenbogle was ringing in her ears. Where had she seen it mentioned before? It bothered her that she couldn't devote any time to remembering right then and there and she resolved to let it sit in the back of her mind.

"Molly is very well-known round these parts for her scenic paintings," Bill continued. "Many of them are displayed in the Keogh Gallery just down the road a bit. You'll have to visit it when you have a chance." Through all of this, Molly sat humbly listening, shaking her head and tch-tching certain statements. "When Frederick showed me your manuscript Allie, my dear, talented Molly here was the first person I thought of as an illustrator because your styles seem to be so much in sync." He brought together the first fingers on each hand to reiterate his point. "I just needed some time," he laughed, "to convince her that she was the right woman for the job."

"It's just that I've never done illustrations before, you see," Molly leaned across the table toward Allie, "so this is a whole new adventure for me. But with Bill's encouragement, I'm eager to give it a go. And you've written such lovely descriptions of the characters in your story, Allie. It will be a pleasure to try and create them. It's almost as if I have notes to go by. I've actually brought along my portfolio for you to see." Rather than passing the large black case across the table, Molly pulled out the chair beside her, indicating for Allie sit next to her.

The paintings, mostly prints of watercolors in subtle, earthy tones, were natural and pure. As Molly turned the pages she explained how she enjoyed painting al fresco but also had a studio set up near her bedroom so any time the mood struck her she always had an easel and canvas near at hand. With each new work of art Molly seemed to open up more and more, sharing with ease stories of her past travails in the artistic realm. She confessed that since her husband had passed away the urge to paint had subsided somewhat and that she was now sharing her former studio with her daughter-in-law who was using the space as an office.

As they progressed through the portfolio the paintings changed from landscapes to those of still-life and portraits. Pointing to one in particular, Allie said, "Aw, he's adorable!" It was a portrait of a little brown and white dog with floppy ears and round, sad eyes. It appeared to be done with a much finer brushstroke, having plenty of details, making it very realistic.

"Forgive me!" said Molly, stifling a yawn, "I had a late night last night and what always seems to be a good idea in the moment is usually something one regrets the morning after!" Bill seconded the remark with a jovial, "Here, here!" "Although this time, I certainly have no regrets," she whispered, "Okay, let's see which painting you've spotted. Do you mean him? Oh, he's Useless." Allie was surprised at the comment. "Oh no, my dear, no if only you could see the look of horror on your face," Molly laughed. "You must think me so insensitive! Useless is actually the dog's name. My late husband named him. I suppose it was silly really, but he just couldn't seem to teach him anything."

She stopped for a moment and sat back in her chair. "Well, anyway, he is a cute little fellow, isn't he? And he's a beloved member of our family. Now," Molly pulled off her glasses, letting them rest against her chest, dangling from the short beaded string they were attached to. "I envisioned using a combination of techniques, painting the Mourning Doves with a great amount of detail to show off all of their amazing colors while leaving the backgrounds a little less structured so the main characters really stand out."

*******

With a signature signed here, some deadlines ironed out there and a few pieces of paperwork handled their meeting adjourned.

As Bill settled the tab, Molly pulled Allie aside. "I'm so glad to have met you, Allie and I'd really love for you to see Glenbogle. Bill is coming for dinner this evening and I was wondering if you'd be available to join us as well."

Knowing she would have made any sacrifice for the opportunity to be invited to the MacDonald's home, Allie gratefully accepted the generous offer. Plans were arranged for Bill's car to pick her up around half past six that evening.

*******

Leaving the bakery, Allie walked back into the center of town still thinking about Glenbogle. As she passed by the catch-all shop she saw Pete through the window. He knocked on the glass and shouted, "Mornin'" to her. And then it hit her. When she went through her purchases from the night before she had come across a postcard that she knew she hadn't chosen and judging from her receipt, though it was only a few cents, she also hadn't been charged for. She had thought nothing of it until she remembered the Good Samaritan slipping it to Pete. "Hmmm," she thought, "I wonder what my mystery man has to do with Glenbogle."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

_**The Perfect Gift**_

Molly MacDonald accepted the driver's offered hand in assisting her with exiting Bill McGinty's luxurious car which had a rich metallic finish in a deep Nyquil-green color. The driver then reached for her portfolio, handing it to her before doffing his cap, saying, "Ma'am" and returning to the vehicle. With a few last words she and Bill bid each other farewell, both looking forward to the evening that lay ahead. As she turned in the direction of the front door she heard approaching footsteps crunching along the gravel path which led from the side of the house toward the front drive. Donald and their Glenbogle neighbor, Lord Angus Kilwillie were both passing through the black wrought iron gate, looking like the mischievous childhood chums they had once been.

"Kilwillie, Donald, how nice to see you both."

"Molly, was that the publisher from _Plume & Co.,_ I just saw leaving?"

"Yes, it was. Do you know him, Kilwillie?"

"Well, William and I have played a round or two of golf together." Lord Kilwillie, portly and balding, sniffed and straightened himself, then realized nobody had been impressed. He spied the attaché in Molly's hand. "What was he doing here, hmm?"

"Kilwillie!"

"Well I don't mean to pry, Molly, I was just, you know wondering."

"Well, if you must know, Bill is a personal friend of mine."

"Oh?" Lord Kilwillie raised his right eyebrow, forming it into a sharp arch.

"Yes. That is all right with you, I presume?"

He became flustered, "Um yes, of course!" Molly headed toward the house. "Well, it's just that I was wondering."

"Yes?" Turning back, Molly was enjoying Lord Kilwillie's struggle, though she didn't know its cause.

"Well, um," he stammered, "so was his visit for pleasure, then or for business?"

"Kilwillie, I'm not sure I know what you're implying."

Donald began chuckling, "You've really stepped in it this time, _Gallant Gus_!"

The Lord shot Donald a perturbed look, more for the use of his childhood nickname than for the comment itself, "Look, this is coming out all wrong," he whined.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, Molly stepped forward. "Is it, Kilwillie? Not that it is really any of your concern but Bill's visit was halffor business and half for pleasure. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" She lifted the portfolio, patting it lightly, "I had a meeting with Bill this morning but he will be dining at Glenbogle this evening."

"Oh?" Lord Kilwillie's interest peaked.

"Would you like to join us, Gallant Gus?" Accepting the invitation a little too gregariously, this time he was touched at the boyhood name used. "What about you, Donald? Will you be joining us for dinner, too?"

"Actually my son is taking me out to dinner tonight. But, were that not the case," Donald reached for Molly's hand taking it in his, he kissed it gently, "_Mon cher, le bel ami_, I would have been delighted to dine with you."

"Well, yes," Molly smiled, glancing sideways at Lord Kilwillie who was standing with his mouth agape, "I hope you and Paul have a fun lad's night out." Though she had pulled her hand away quickly, Donald remained smiling. "On that not, I fear I must leave you both, I need to have this evening's meal ironed out with Ewan as there will now be two extra guests. So if you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

Wondering who the othermystery guest was who'd be joining them that evening, Lord Kilwillie tipped his hat while Donald looked after Molly, fiddling with the pink carnation, still pert, still tucked snuggly into the button hole of his collar.

*******

As Molly approached a hallway near the back of the house she could see Ewan through the glass panels of the heavy swinging door just up ahead of her. He was nearing the flight of stairs at the other end and she called out to him, her voice echoing off the monotonous brown and beige walls of the long servant's corridor. "Ewan, do you have a moment?" She did her best to speed walk toward him so she wouldn't have to yell.

"Aye, Molly, but only for a second, if you don't mind. Jenny from the grocer's called—her dad had to special order some of the ingredients for that Greek dish you wanted me to try. Who's going to listen to her if I don't go and collect 'em? There's not much call for phyllo dough around here."

"No, I'm sure there isn't. Thank you, Ewan you're very good to me, dealing with all of my whims."

"Oh aye, well in all fairness, Molly, you've been nothing but kind to me. You weren't planning on serving the spinach dish tonight, were you? Cause I have to tell you, I think it's going to be bloody he…er, I mean a bit tricky to make it correctly."

"No, no dear. Although I have the utmost confidence in you that you could pull off just about any old recipe we threw at you. You remind me of that young female chef we had a while back, just before we hired you. What was her name? Arlene? Ilene? She was very talented though not self-taught as you are. She'd gone to the finest culinary schools and she had studied in France. But as you can imagine, it took her a while to un-fussy the meals for us, however when she did it was," Molly caught Ewan sigh. "I'm sorry, listen to me prattling on while there's so much work to be done! We will be having the salmon tonight and perhaps some traditional sides? Oh and there will be two extra guests for dinner, Lord Kilwillie and a woman I met at my meeting this morning." Molly was running through things in her head but she could see Ewan was raring to go. "I'm sure that's all for now Ewan, you are dismissed." And with that, the young chef flew down the stairs and out the court yard door in a flash.

Molly was sure that Jenny Davenport would've given Ewan a hard time regardless of when he'd stopped by the grocers because she was always huffy when dealing with him. _Ah the mating rituals of the blithe young_, she thought.

_**Glenbogle Village**_

No sooner had she come down from the high of being invited to Glenbogle, had Allie regretted accepting. Just what did one wear to a Castle? She'd been appropriately dressed for that morning's meeting; matching black slacks with low-heeled shoes and a cornflower blue sweater set that complemented her coloring and brown eyes nicely. But she wasn't the string of pearls-wearing type. She didn't own any pairs of dainty, mule-styled sandals, pretty floral skirts or slim-cut sheath dresses. She was a jean and boots kind of girl, granted the jeans fit her slightly ample frame perfectly and she cared for her timeless-looking, supple-leather _Frye_ and _Easy Spirit_ boots so well that no one would ever have guessed they were more than ten years old. But she also knew full well that no pair of dungarees—as her mother had called them, no matter the cut would be appropriate for dinner with a landowner's wife and the head of a huge publishing company. Cancelling would be the biggest faux pas of all, so Allie knew she would have to figure out something.

Clothing aside, she had a more difficult decision to make; what to bring. She knew she mustn't go empty-handed, her mother and grandmother had made sure to drill that bit of etiquette into her but all of her fall-back ideas for hostess gifts seemed so cliché. To bring flowers to someone who, as Bill McGinty had described it, _maintained_ _the most gloriously fragrant garden in the whole of Scotland, the centerpiece of which being the marvelous two-toned Glenbogle rose_, was a bit like bringing coals to Newcastle, even if the blooms were just barely budding.

Aimlessly roaming the aisles of the grocer's, passing by the frozen foods bin completely void of inspiration, she was very surprised, even shocked, to find an entire row of slim rectangular boxes with bright blue and yellow labels. Phyllo dough! She couldn't believe it! That was her answer. She'd make her famous Baklava. Perfect. Now all she needed to do was convince her new friend Liz to allow her to use the B & B's kitchen, but she didn't imagine it would be that much of a problem.

Adding to her basket a few bags of chopped walnuts, some lemons, a sack of sugar, two pounds of butter and a tin of ground cinnamon, Allie headed to the cashier. There was a line. Heaven forbid. Having lived in big cities all her life, Allie was used to the constant rhythm of the 24/7, hustle and bustle and, over the years had grown impatient with waiting in line. As she did her best to stay calm, noting that of the two workers on duty one had just left, she peered into the basket of the young man standing in front of her. Among the items he had was fresh spinach, a container of cottage cheese and a box of phyllo. She hadn't realized that she'd been staring.

"I didn't know my groceries were so interesting." Glancing behind him, Ewan spoke curtly to Allie, annoyed perhaps because it had been Jenny who had left the store to go on break, "Unless, you were looking at something else?"

"I'm sorry," Allie blushed. "It's the foods you've chosen. I'm a little homesick and they reminded me," Allie took a deep breath, feeling embarrassed and silly. "You know what, never mind. It was rude of me to stare."

"Nah, it's me who should be sorry. I was the one being rude. Sounds like home is a long way off, are you American?"

"Yes, I am."

"Visiting?" Ewan turned sideways to face her.

"I'm on sabbatical for a few months."

"And you have a thing for looking in other people's baskets ha," Ewan had looked into Allie's basket, "and you're buying phyllo! That's brilliant! I'm grateful to you!" Allie looked confused. "The grocer's had to special order it for me and it was a real hassle for them! Management wants to make sure they don't lose any money on the deal." Ewan laughed and started unloading his bin onto the conveyor belt. "I'm a chef and my boss is a great lady but sometimes she gets these ideas. She went on holiday to Greece so she's embracing their culture and she wants me to try this dish called spani…something."

"Spanikopita!"

"Aye, that's it! Is that what you're making? Are you Greek?"

"No, I'm not Greek, but I have made it before. You can call it spinach pie."

"Spinach pie, bril, yup that's definitely easier to remember."

"It's peasant food, really but often times it makes for the best eating!"

"Normally I would tend to agree with you but this recipe has some really weird steps—with the dough, at least. I've mastered flaky croissants and even custard tarts but I'm going to cheat here and use phyllo instead of making the dough myself."

"There's nothing wrong with that, phyllo's a respectable substitute especially for a first attempt!"

"I don't know how my boss is going to like it. Hey, if you've got some free time over the next couple of days maybe you could come give me some pointers," he joked, grabbing his bagged groceries off the counter. The bell above the entrance jingled, distracting him. The female clerk had come back inside. "Well, take care. Enjoy your stay."

While paying for her fare Allie could hear the girl arguing with the young man she'd just spoken to. She was complaining that the smallest lot of phyllo her father, the obvious owner of the grocery, could purchase was 20 boxes and that Ewan would need to buy more because there was no way the left-over stock would be coming out of her wages. As Allie passed by the pair on her way out, she whispered to the young man, "The trick is feta cheese. Add some to the savory filling; it gives it that little extra kick." Then, showing the female clerk the boxes of phyllo she had purchased, Allie thanked the girl profusely for having had such a wide array of foods on offer, leaving the young hire completely puzzled and speechless and Ewan a wee bit more impressed with his new American acquaintance.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Looking for Archie, Paul entered the Estate Office and found him standing by one of the back windows. He was holding a few papers which he'd turned toward the daylight as if to read them but instead, Archie stared at them blankly.

"A penny for 'em?" Archie didn't respond. "Arch?"

"I'm sorry Paul, what?" He faced his cousin then took a seat at the desk.

"A penny for your thoughts, I said."

"Hmm I'm afraid I'd bankrupt you. What's up?"

"Um I was wondering if I could bounce some ideas off of you." Paul sat in a chair opposite Archie, tossing a set of keys and a thick blue folder onto the edge of the desk.

"About?"

"Setting up an outdoor youth program," Paul's voice was optimistic and though Archie nodded his head slowly he wasn't quite sure his cousin was responding to anything he'dsaid. "The terrain round here is perfect for this sort of thing and I've checked on funding and also with the insurance company."

"You've done a lot of work on this, Paul."

"Well um, I didn't mean to step on any toes or anything. I just figured if I did some research first I could give you a better idea of costs and feasibility."

"No, that's fine, I appreciate your initiative. Can I take some time to look over the information and the figures?"

"Sure. I've written up a basic plan here," Paul handed the folder across the desk, astonished that the preliminary talk was going so well.

"Listen Paul, I was wondering if you could sit in on one of the Community Board Meetings next week. It's not an appointed position Glenbogle just has to be represented. You don't even really have to do much except take a few notes," Archie laughed, "Well that and have a cup of bad coffee and a piece of someone's world famous toffee cake."

"Yeah, I can do that. The meeting part anyway, I'm not too sure about eating dodgy pastries." Though Archie and Paul both laughed at his comment, Paul had the distinct feeling that something was going on with Archie, sensing he'd rather be left alone with his thoughts. Standing, Paul grabbed his keys, trying to decide if he should broach the subject. "Well, I'd best be going but um, you know Arch, if you ever need to talk or anything."

"Sure, thanks. I'll know where to find you."

"Right."

"Okay, so I'll get back to you about your proposal as quickly as possible. Oh and it's Tuesday evening, 7 o'clock at the Community Center."

"Yeah, I'll mark my calendar."

_**Glenbogle Village**_

Before returning to the B & B, Allie had made a few more stops in some of the shops in the village. Now, donning a borrowed apron and tying a scarf around her head to hold back her thick, shoulder-length hair, she set to work on assembling the baklava. Although Liz had given her free reign of the kitchen for the entire afternoon it had come with a price. Not of a monetary nature but more of the _now I have carte blanche to stick my nose in your business and offer you advice _variety.

Upon hearing that she'd been invited to the big house—as Glenbogle was locally referred—Liz expressed her inability at understanding how a big-city gal like Allie could possible think that home-baked goods were an appropriate hostess gift for a Lairdess. She went on to list about a half dozen other items which, in her humble opinion, were perfectly suitable ending her soapbox spiel with the irritating zinger, _but I'm sure you know what's best!_

Allie was patience personified, ignoring Liz's remarks and she was rewarded for this and relieved as well when Liz made the announcement that she was off to launder the linens because _goodness knows they weren't going to wash themselves!_

What Liz didn't understand was how much of one's soul went into making the dessert, the completed confection, a near work of art. For centuries women had vied for the title of who made the best baklava without the need for formal contests or critical judges wielding plastic clipboards and over-sensitized palates. No, they relied on more obvious, critical signs reflected in the actions of their peers. Holding up a plate at eye-level meant the ratio of phyllo layers to filling was being estimated. A look of distaste indicated the pastry was too sweet while overly sticky fingers signified a baklava that was much too dense, oily and moist. Even in Allie's own family, Nanny Z, a perfectionist if there ever was one, criticized the way Nana Gace—her full-of-fun, down a glass of _raki_ in one gulp in-law slopped together the whole affair, carelessly tearing the delicate layers of raw dough before they even made it into the pan and giving the nuts a rough chop at best. And just where was that subtle hint of lemon?

The perfectly made baklava, a just sweet enough, heavily cinnamon-flavored, crispy morsel was complete nirvana. And Allie intended to share this delectable gift with the highland gentry of Glenbogle House.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

_**Cold Hands & Finnan Haddie**_

Allie made a few last minute adjustments to her outfit, affixing a silver filigreed pin high on the left shoulder of the magenta tunic-style top she had bought in the village that afternoon. It skimmed her body just so, easing out at the hip and balancing the slightly flared steel-grey trousers and medium-heeled black boots she'd chosen to wear specifically for a little added height. Her freshly washed and dried hair was swept up off her face with a simple barrette securing a section at the crown. A few wispy tendrils fell gracefully out of place all around. The finishing touch was a tiny set of cubic zirconium earrings which were so microscopic yet sparkled so stunningly they could easily pass for the real thing.

Grabbing her black trench, Allie quickly ran through the B & B's kitchen intending to collect her culinary masterpiece and then head outside or at least into the foyer, to wait for her ride from Bill McGinty. Although Liz had been tending to her other guests she stepped back into the kitchen the moment she heard Allie descending the stairs.

"Oh, let's see." Feeling a little foolish Allie opened up her arms to the sides then twirled around to show off her outfit. "Yes, the shape of that top does seem to make the pounds melt away, doesn't it?" Allie cringed inside but she knew the remark, back-handed though it was, was meant to be a compliment. "I have to tell you," Liz continued, "I put some of your baklava on the sideboard in the dining room earlier and everyone's been gobbling it up!"

As a thoughtful gesture—_and _since she had found _two_ pans with the exact dimensions required for the recipe Allie had baked a whole tray of baklava for Liz as well. The two had actually bonded over the course of the day, sitting down to a cup of tea as Allie waited for the baklava to cool until it was just warm enough to the touch, before cutting it all into diamond shapes and pouring on the heated sugar syrup. Being careful not to disturb the perfectly cut portions, Allie had lifted out some of the, _cook's privilege pieces_, bite-sized triangular wedges that remained along the sides of the pan, placing them on a plate to share with Liz, just as her grandmother had done with her.

One thing Allie had learned that afternoon was that Liz had a nephew, a man in his mid-twenties named Duncan, who, as Liz had put it with an acrimonious air, _worked at the big house as a_ _part-time Head Ranger, full-time Chief Gopher_. As she had spoken of him, she had handed Allie a wood-framed picture which she kept on a shelf above the kitchen table. Allie had studied it as she had listened; noting the gushing stream gleaming behind him, assuming the photo had been taken on a special day since the cute guy with curly-hair and an engaging smile was wearing a kilt.

His aunt had voiced concern over his being taken advantage of at Glenbogle House, because, _though they were good folk to be sure, he had a very generous heart and nature about him _and was_ full of untapped potential_. She was aware that he was a grown man who didn't need looking after but still, she had felt a sense of responsibility given his only relation was a great uncle he'd hardly ever met before and a smattering of distant relatives.

At first Allie had thought this might have been the perfect opportunity to ask her about her mystery man. But then had thought against it, not sure of what she would have said. _Do you think your nephew works with a tall handsome man who wears a Greek fisherman's cap?_ _Did_ she_ know of anyone who fit that description?_ It wouldn't have mattered to Allie what he _did _for a living. She envisioned him working with wild animals or guiding school children at one of the centers she'd seen advertised on the Glenbogle postcard. Or even, for that matter, working on the land as a _ghillie, _or whatever—she wasn't quite sure if that's what they were called. One bit of advice Allie's father had given her many years before on the topic of finding a decent chap, as he had referred to any man worthy of winning over the heart of his daughter, was that one's occupation or academic success wasn't necessarily the first thing to consider, _"Just because a guy went to college, it don't me nuthin'"._ And she knew he was right. But, she rationalized; it hadn't felt appropriate to ask such an open-ended question about a man she knew absolutely nothing about, let alone raising the suspicions of one of the village's biggest gossips.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Archie had finished readying himself and his daughter for Molly's dinner party and was now sitting in one of the chairs in the baby's room telling Hazel how beautiful she looked in the new party dress which her mother had laid out for her. Lexie appeared in the doorway of the nursery holding up some papers.

"Archie, what's this?"

"Ummm…a stack of papers?" He could sense Lexie was not amused with his response. It was the project plans Paul had given him earlier that morning. "It's a proposal."

"For?"

"For an outdoor youth program." Archie turned Hazel so she was facing her mother and said in a wee voice, "See how pretty I look in my new dress, Mummy."

"Sorry?" Ignoring Archie's remark about their daughter, she questioned, "An outdoor what?"

"You know, one of those morale-boosting youth programs where the kids do climbing and hiking and, I don't know other outdoor stuff I suppose. Paul wrote up the proposal and asked me to look it over because he'd like to open one of these programs here on Glenbogle land."

"And?"

"And what, Lexie?" Hazel giggled as Archie bounced her up and down.

"It's nice of you to mention it to me." Lexie stormed out of the nursery and back to their bedroom. Carrying Hazel, Archie followed closely behind.

"Lexie? Lexie, listen to me." She looked squarely at her husband. "He just gave me the proposal this morning. _I've_ barely had a chance to look it over, but I did promise him I'd give him some sort of an answer soon."

"Och! So you weren't planning on discussing it with me at all then?" Still holding the proposal, Lexie threw up her arms, sending the papers flying onto the bed.

"There's nothing to discuss yet."

"Right, so you haven't discussed any of this with Paul then?"

"Well of course I discussed it with Paul it was _his_ idea!"

"But you didn't think to consult me?"

Hazel was fidgeting and Archie reached for a pacifier to try and keep her calm. "You can read the proposal if you want, Lex."

"Oh _can _I," she answered flippantly. "I don't care if I read the blasted proposal, Arch."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"I want you to talk to me and tell me what's going on in your life. All you've done since your mother has come back from Greece is brood. We need to be making decisions _together_."

"Oh, like the decision you made to pack everything up and move fifty yards down the hall at 9 o'clock last night? I don't recall being consulted before _that_ decision was made."

"That's not the same thing Archie and you know it. There are so many more important things to worry about than which brass bed you lay your lairdly head down on! Besides, that's not the issue. Glenbogle is _our_ responsibility now. I thought we were partners, but I guess blood _is_ thicker than water—even if it is long-lost blood." Lexie picked up a pair of earrings and started putting them on. "I don't really think we should be starting up any new projects just yet."

"No?"

"No, Archie, I don't. Persuade Paul to hold off on his idea for a while."

"Well, the last time I checked, _I _was the Laird of Glenbogle, not you!"

"I can't believe you have the nerve to say that! After all I've sacrificed and put up with for you?"

"Sacrificed? Put up with, for _me_? Lexie when I married you, I _saved_ you!" The moment the words left his mouth he regretting saying them. Though Lexie's eyes welled with tears, she did not let them fall. Archie did not apologize. "We'll see you downstairs."

_**Glenbogle Village, Bed & Breakfast**_

Bill McGinty's car arrived before Allie had made her way outside to wait for him. Through the front window she could see his driver already opening the back door of the vehicle while Bill sprang forward to greet her at the B & B's front gate.

"Hello again Allie, I trust you've had an enjoyable afternoon? Here, let me take that for you. Oh, my goodness, your hands are ice cold! Edgar, turn up the heat a little, please." Taking the box of baklava, Bill raised it up and down. "My, my, this box feels like it's filled with gold bullions!"

Allie laughed to herself. Only Bill McGinty would know the heft of gold and would make this analogy, but he was right in one respect what he was holding would hopefully be considered just as valuable as gold. As she settled back into the comfortable soft leather seat, she tried desperately to warm her hands but her efforts would be futile because they were cold from nerves, not from the temperature. One thing she knew for certain, the well-heeled publisher sitting across from her had not spent _his_ day toiling over a hot oven. Then again, to have become so successful in his field he couldn't have been such a stranger to hard work either, albeit a different kind of work.

As they drove along the scenic route, Bill spoke continuously, mentioning everything from the height and condition of the pine trees lining the rode to the history of the land itself. Allie nodded and laughed at his commentary, interjecting a _really_ here and there and a few _wows _and_ you don't says_, grateful that she didn't have to do much talking herself. He referred to the wealth of knowledge he had crammed in his head a _perk_ of being a publisher. And, judging from the wide array of books _Plume & Co._ had in print, Allie imagined it was a quite an assortment of information he had stored away which was, perhaps, the reason he could fit in so easily anywhere. He always had something to say.

Nearing a bend in the road Edgar announced that they had reached the driveway, at which point Bill stopped his conversation and reached over for Allie's hand, catching her about the wrist. Then the car stopped.

"I'm sorry, Allie…"

Allie didn't know what to expect next. Was he sorry for having to drop her off in the middle of the road, left to _walk_ the rest of the way because he couldn't be seen arriving with a lowly writer? No, that wasn't Bill. Though she trusted him and his odd ways, she had to admit she was a little leery.

"But," Bill continued, "to see Glenbogle for the first time is really something special." Allie craned her neck to see out the front window. "Okay, Edgar we're ready, start up slowly. Now look. It's just around this turn."

Instead of watching the scene himself Allie could feel Bill's eyes on her, anticipating her reaction. She held her breath hoping she wouldn't be disappointed and therefore disappoint him! Catching a glimpse of Glenbogle's bright, stony façade, there it stood in all its majesty set off against the setting sun and the deep purple and blue of the distant mountains and emerging clouds. It was, in one word, breathtaking.

*******

Bill didn't wait for someone to meet them at the entrance instead he clanged the tarnished brass bell by the entryway several times before rapping loudly on the door and letting them in, announcing their arrival. "May I present," his voice reverberated throughout the foyer, bouncing off the high carved-wood walls and black and white tiled floor, "The honorable and lovely Lady Allie Gace, escorted by the renowned Lord William F. McGinty, XVI."

"So it's the 16th now, is it? One of these days you're going to tell me what the initial 'F' in your name stands for!" Molly approached the pair, proudly holding her granddaughter whom she introduced as well. "Please, come in, come in. Allie, welcome to Glenbogle."

Allie was equally impressed with the interior of the house. Although not expecting to find everything pristine and new she was a little surprised at its condition. The thread-bare carpets and worn upholstery however definitely added to its charm making it feel like a loving home and, more importantly to her, very welcoming to an uneasy guest.

Lingering in the wide entry hall, Allie admired the grandfather clock ticking away softly beside a huge black-marble fireplace that was alit with a blazing fire. It seemed so indulgent and regal to have a fireplace in one's foyer; Allie tried not to think of its practical need. The mantel, unexpectedly set with framed pictures and a few greeting cards made it feel all the more homey and reminded Allie of Christmas Eves spent at her Aunt and Uncle's—whose house was the epitome of a traditional New England home, especially in winter. Although some like her father and grandmother would prefer the comfort of cushy chairs and sofas, others would gather on the floor of their living room sitting close to one another and to the heat, talking and listening with ease, careful to avoid being burned by flying embers as her young cousins energetically stoked the fire.

"Come on, Allie!" Bill's voice startled her. "If you're impressed by the entry hall, wait until you see the rest of the house!"

They were led into a formal parlor where Allie, shy when it came to mingling, stationed herself in the periphery of the room, clinging to the back of one of the elegant chairs as if she were shipwrecked at sea and it was the only thing keeping her afloat. She was briefly introduced to Molly's son, who whisked her box of baklava off to another room as his mother asked him to fetch a bottle of something or other and to her daughter-in-law, the new mother who appeared to be around Allie's age and was tending to her baby. As she sipped the offered drink and listened to the light banter her eyes wandered around the room. The walls were lofty, covered with an apricot-colored moiré-paper and capped with deep, frothy white cornices, resembling a thick piping of whipped cream. In the distance Allie heard a door creak and footsteps echoing and she wondered if the murmur of voices she could hear were other guests arriving for dinner.

*******

Paul Bowman was coming down the main staircase in the entrance hall as neighbor and friend Lord Kilwillie made his entrance.

"Ah, Kilwillie, have you come for dinner?"

"Yes. And I understand you're taking your father out for an evening on the town?" The two men talked in the hall just outside the parlor door. "Well that's jolly good isn't it—keep him occupied!" Paul gave him a questioning look but Lord Kilwillie either didn't notice or chose to ignore. "Listen; don't do anything I wouldn't do though, eh?"

Agreeing, Paul slapped Lord Kilwillie on the back giving him a chuckle before strumming the doorframe with his fingers and waving a quick hello to the guests in the parlor. Molly shouted out a _have a good evening, Paul_ but by the time Allie had turned to see, Lord Kilwillie was entering the room and Paul had already left. She'd just missed seeing her sought-after stranger.

*******

With introductions again made for the sake of Lord Kilwillie, Bill pumped up Allie's sagging confidence by explaining that her odd last name, Gace rhymed with all words that suited her: _grace_, _face_ and _ace_. Although she rolled her eyes in response, she did stand a little taller as a result, flattered that he'd taken so much time to make her feel more comfortable. She tried to sum up Lord Kilwillie, wondering what exactly the title Lord stood for and how it was derived and handed down as he escorted her through the cozy library and into the dining room. The huge oval table shimmered as the movement of the guests caused the lights of the silver candelabras to flicker and reflect off the polished wood.

Seated near the room's fireplace, Allie had hoped to be sitting near Lexie or even Molly but they were arranged in somewhat of a traditional boy-girl fashion, with Lord Kilwillie to her right and Bill to her left. As the meal progressed, Allie was quieter than a mouse and realizing that this sometimes draws even more attention than someone who's loud and boisterous, she prompted herself to speak up and contribute something, _anything_ to the conversation. And then, the perfect topic emerged.

It was mentioned just after the discussion about poachers pilfering the land and right before they'd moved on to the present state of the economy. Lord Kilwillie broke the ice for her by proclaiming that his number one, absolute, favorite dish in the whole world was Finan Haddie. It just so happened, it was Allie's as well. She was such a huge fan of the smoked fish dish in fact—and she retold this story to the delight of her fellow guests—that she'd taken to keeping track of how skillful waiters were at double-checking her choice, being an uncommon order for anyone under a _certain_ age, let alone that of a _woman_. Who knew that her gentleman's pallet, as she liked to call it, would be the one thing that would win everyone over?

_**Property, Glenbogle Estate**_

Paul was looking forward to spending some time with his father, Donald. He'd heard of a new sports bar opening up a few towns over and had looked them up online. It was one of those flashy places decorated with sports memorabilia and the like, and when he discovered that pictures of his father from his racing car days were on display as well as a pair of his driving gloves and some other paraphernalia; he thought it might be the perfect place for them to go. But he hadn't mentioned this to his dad, thinking it would be more of a treat for him to see the items for himself. And Paul was eager to see them as well. There was much more he hoped to achieve over their dinner, but only time would tell if he'd have nerve enough to bring up the past and his mother.

As he approached the garages from the court yard, he could see Golly, the estate's ghillie talking to Donald. At first it appeared to be just an ordinary chat however as he neared he could tell it was quite heated, with Golly doing most of the talking. Though he quickened his pace he was just out of ear-shot, unable to catch any words and before he had reached them, Golly had stormed off. His father looked troubled and hadn't heard Paul draw near.

"Donald?" Emotionally, Paul was still not ready to call his father, dad. "What was that all about?"

"That? Oh, that was nothing, just a good ol' chin wag. Don't trouble yourself about it, son. It was nothing more, nothing less."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Forgetting the Past**_

Donald MacDonald was having an immensely enjoyable time re-living his race car driving days and accepting, with relish, all of the perks that his washed-up, quasi celebrity status apparently entitled him to. Paul watched with amazement and also chagrin as drink after drink was sent to their table from blokes who, younger than himself, had probably never even heard of his father but who still sought bragging rights for being in the vicinity of this near legend of a legend.

When however, their meals were comped by the owners of the newly-opened sports bar and a queue of inebriated men and even some women, clutching beer-stained paper drink coasters and wrinkled cocktail napkins started forming for Donald's autograph, Paul deemed the night officially over. A person with the utmost personal restraint and reserve, Paul, who stopped his own alcoholic consumption earlier in the evening, ushered his wobbly but compliant father to their vehicle. Although happy that Donald had had such a good time, he was disappointed that the serious half of the evening had not gone as planned. So it came as quite a surprise to him when a few miles down the road Donald asked, in a more sober and somber tone, if they might stop at the _Cross & Arms_ for a coffee and an earnest chat before returning home.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

By the time the diners in Glenbogle house had finished their delicious supper of fresh poached salmon—which had been caught on their own land that very day, the conversations had taken on a more intimate quality, with Lord Kilwillie and Lexie discussing Allie's book and reasons for visiting Scotland and Bill, Molly and Archie conversing on a variety of other topics, one of which was Molly's recent trip.

"I'd love to see your pictures of Greece, Molly! You're so artistic, I'm sure each shot was perfectly framed."

Archie rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Please, don't encourage her, Bill!"

"Why ever not? Don't be such a downer, Archie." Lord Kilwillie added his two cents worth from the other end of the table.

"That's rich coming from you, Kilwillie. It's just that she's only got her one little camera," he emphasized his point by forming his fingers into a tiny rectangular shape, "and she's taken about a thousand pictures. We'd all either have to cram in about her or pass the bloody thing round the table as she tried to describe each piccie."

"Where's your sense of adventure, boy," Bill teased.

"Where's my sense of adventure, Bill?"

"Molly," Allie spoke up, as Archie, still questioning his mother's guest, pushed his chair away from the table and threw his cloth napkin onto his plate. "Have you put them on a computer yet?"

"On a computer, no I haven't. Actually Allie, I'm not sure what you mean."

"Once you upload the pictures onto a computer, you can put them into a program that allows you to make up a slideshow-type presentation."

Archie breathed deeply, hooking his left arm around the top of his chair and tipping it way back.

"Could I do that, Archie," Molly was getting very excited at the prospect of this new project.

"Yes, you could Mother but," he was becoming very irritated, "first I have to _install_ the software onto your computer. You know, I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"No," Lexie piped up under her breath, "He's been too busy reading new _business_ proposals." Looking round at the seated guests, Lexie stood, "Er, excuse me, I think I'll go see how Ewan's getting on with dessert." Lord Kilwillie and Bill rose slightly from their chairs as Lexie exited.

"If Archie doesn't have time to help you Molly, I'd be happy to do it for you and check to see if you have the right programs to use."

Archie sighed heavily, excusing himself from the table as well, muttering something about having to change Hazel's diaper.

**********

Moving through to the adjacent library for coffee, a night cap and—if anyone could manage, a spot of dessert, Lord Kilwillie made a bee line for Bill, hoping to discuss with the publisher his latest idea for a novel which centered on the social faux pas of the upper classes. Allie and Molly made themselves comfortable on a wicker settee which had a thick, velvety cushion that was tattered in some spots.

"Forgive me, Molly. I didn't mean to impose myself on you."

"Nonsense Allie, you did nothing of the sort. It was very kind of you to offer to help. It's _me_ who should be apologizing for my son and daughter-in-law's rude behavior. Are you married?"

"No, I'm not." Allie thought about how close she and Molly had already become that day and how very little each woman actually knew about the other.

"Like all things, I guess marriage can be both a blessing and a curse. Not that that excuses their conduct, it doesn't. I was married to my dear Hector for nearly 40 years and they were some of the best and worst days of my life. Sometimes I miss him so. It makes one take stock of what's _really_ important in life and observant of what one has to be thankful for. Ah, Ewan!"

Molly hopped up as young chef Ewan Brodie, carrying a large tray with desserts and coffee, entered the library from the dining room. As he turned around to be introduced by Molly, he caught sight of Allie.

"Hey," he laughed, "I know you. You're the lady who bought the phyllo. Oi! Were you the one who made the baklava?"

"Yes," Allie approached and Molly made introductions.

"It was _fabulous_, Allie," Ewan nudged her with his elbow. "I don't suppose you'd share the recipe, then?"

"Sure. Of course I'd have to leave out the secret ingredient," she teased.

"I'm sorry, Allie," Molly interjected, "our Ewan is quite the accomplished Chef. I bet he could suss out the toughest of ingredients."

"She flatters me," Ewan feigned modesty. "Your spinach pie must be terrific, too."

Allie blushed. "Well, I don't know about that."

"I'll be trying out the recipe tomorrow, if you'd like to come on over and give me a hand."

"Can you make _spanikopita_, Allie? It's _so_ delicious! I had it practically _every day_ while I was in Greece. Oh and I've an idea! You should come back tomorrow, Allie."

In the rush of the last half hour spent at the MacDonald's, Allie wasn't really sure just _how_ a second invitation to visit Glenbogle the next day had been issued. But there it was, hanging in the air between them, waiting for her to accept and she did, despite the overwhelming feeling that she was over-staying her welcome and taking advantage of Molly's generosity. After all, she _had_ mentioned showing Allie some of her sketched illustrations and clarifying certain sections of Allie's manuscript which in her mind, were sufficient enough reasons to consider it a proper meeting and that is how she justified it to herself, jotting it down as such in her planner. After all, no one said the environment for a meeting couldn't be enchanting.

_**The Cross & Arms**_

Being late evening many of the patrons of the _Cross & Arms_ had already started making their way home, leaving a strong, clear-voiced tenor to lead the remaining of the lot in a sing-a-long, off-key as the rest were, of favored Scottish pub songs while a few more rounds were bought.

Paul and Donald settled in a booth off to the side, each ordering coffees—though when Paul stepped out to the men's room Donald was quick to make his an _Irish_ coffee. It was Donald who started off their conversation.

"Listen, Paul I won't pretend that our relationship was more than it was, at least not to me. I don't mean to sound an insensitive cad, but I had no idea of the feelings your mother had for me." He took a sip of his coffee and tried to asses his son's interpretation of events. "We were all friends, you see, me, Golly, Megan, among others…even Molly and Hector. Strictly speaking we weren't really _cavorting_ with the staff. Most of us had grown up together. Perhaps this nonchalant attitude put my brother Hector and me into some sticky situations, but it _was_ what it was. Your mother wasn't a silly or frivolous person, Paul, she was a naturally intelligent and interesting woman, but I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know. Although I admit that I succumbed to a moment of weakness I will not go so far as to say that I took advantage of her or the situation. Mind you, we got together as two _consenting_ adults."

For a full five minutes the two said nothing to one another. Megan was not there to defend herself or to tell her side of the story and Paul, never having any knowledge of who his father was, had also been at a disadvantage. So there they sat, listening to the last few words of an old ballade being sung, silently sipping their coffees until Donald mustered the nerve to speak again.

"I didn't have a relationship with your mother and who knows what might have happened had circumstances been different—we could play what if all night but it wouldn't change the facts. We can't make up for the past but I do feel strongly that now that we _have_ found each other, we should forge ahead with our own relationship, whether it be as father and son or just pals who happen to be related. What do you think?" This time Donald deliberately asked a question, forcing his son to respond.

"Donald, you are right, we can't make up for the past." Paul paused, cracking the knuckles on his fingers. "My mother struggled a lot and my life wasn't easy and I can't say, in all honesty that I lay all the blame on you because I don't but if there's one thing I learned it was not to _dwell_ on the past. I want to move _forward_. I'm grateful that I found family but…"

"Yes, Paul, I know what it's like to _find _family. I've _always_ hadfamily but I foolishly walked away from them and I had no right asking for a second chance and yet I _did_ and they've granted it to me. I'm very fortunate. We both are. So strong is the family and heritage that binds us together, Paul. Now we can start our own, _new_ traditions. Can't we?"

"Well," that wasn't exactly what Paul had been thinking. Though it was true, he was grateful for finding a family that he had never known existed, other than setting down roots somewhere he wasn't very keen on traditions and customs and the whole idea of steeping ones life in the centuries-old trappings of heritage. The look of contentment and sheer joy and pride on his father's face prevented him from speaking his real feelings. "Right, Donald," he chose instead to say, "Perhaps we _will _start our own new traditions."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

_**Sketches & Rough Drafts**_

Allie quickly realized that one plus of befriending the town busybody was that she had connections to positively everyone which meant that on this early crisp, spring Saturday morning Liz was easily able to arrange for Allie to hitch a ride with the post master from the center of town right to Glenbogle's front door. Having pointed out sights all along his route, throwing in bits and pieces of history Allie remembered to mention how informational the drive was_ and_ how he should really be giving tours of Glenbogle for a living—buttering him up just as Liz had prepped her to do in case she found herself in need of this service again.

Once safely transported to the MacDonald's home, Allie wasn't quite sure of how to make her presence known. Stalling, she adjusted the strap on the bag she was carrying messenger-style across her body. The leather satchel, heavy enough when empty now felt even more cumbersome and she regretted having toted some things she'd thought essential such as an extra sweater to fend off cool chills drifting up from the loch—it had been Liz's suggestion, a water bottle, her digital camera, and the notebook she went hardly anywhere without. Approaching the entrance, knowing she wasn't just going to barge in as Bill McGinty had done the night before, she rang the entryway bell then knocked loudly on the front door, peering through the dusty glass in hopes of catching someone's attention.

"Hello, Miss. Good morning. Can I help you?" Duncan McKay approached the front entry from the side of the house.

Identifying him immediately as Liz's nephew, recalling the photograph of him she had seen at the B & B, Allie laughed for she had not expected to again see him in a kilt, surmising that wearing it must have been his thing.

"What," Duncan automatically wiped at his face, reacting to Allie's laughter. "Do I have something hanging from my nose?"

"No, you don't. I'm sorry for laughing it's just that you caught me by surprise. Please let me explain, I recognize you from your picture. I think I've been staying at your Aunt's Bed & Breakfast in the village."

"Aye! You're staying at my Aunty Liz's place? Och! I bet she's told you all sorts of crazy stories about me."

"Nope, she hasn't. Actually she thinks very highly of you."

"Oh aye, she thinks I should be doing more with my life. Anaway," Duncan laughed awkwardly, "That's not your problem, is it?" He motioned toward the front door, "I don't know why they've never installed a proper doorbell system. May I ask who you're looking for?"

"Molly MacDonald."

"Ah, well she's actually out by the loch, if you want to follow me this way." Allie did so and as she entered through the huge iron gate she caught sight of the calm loch and the vibrant patches of blooming Astilbe, swaying in the breeze.

"It's quite something, isn't it?" Duncan spoke as he looked toward the water and mountains. "Do you hike at all? By the way, my name is Duncan," he spoke to Allie shielding his eyes from the bright sun. "I'm the Head Ranger here at Glenbogle."

"Hi Duncan, my name is Allie. I'm here on sabbatical—I just wrote my first children's book—well, it hasn't been published yet, but Mrs. MacDonald's going to be doing the illustrations."

"Wow, that's fantastic, Allie."

"Yes, it's really been a great opportunity for me. Wait, that sounds so, well for lack of a better word, opportunistic of me to say. This experience—so far at least has been so rewarding and uplifting and I seem to have gotten off track here, haven't I? No, Duncan, to answer your question, I've never hiked in my life!"

"Well if you're going to be here for any length of time you should try walking some of the trails. There are lower ones that run along the banks of the loch and others that go up into the hills. I give tours to hiking parties but they're usually groups of people who schedule in advance. If you stop by the Estate Office though, Archie, who is Molly's son and also the Laird or his cousin Paul, could give you maps of the area and the trails. Are you visiting alone?" Allie nodded that she was. "Well the trails are pretty safe but I could always show you around too, if you'd like. My schedule is a bit trickier is all but they'd know how to get in touch with me and I'm sure we could work something out."

Allie thought back to the postcard, unconsciously patting the zippered flap on her bag where she had tucked it for safe-keeping; another of her essentials. Wanting desperately to ask about her mystery man, she took a deep breath but found she hadn't the courage and ultimately, said nothing.

"Is there something else?" Duncan had an odd smile on his face.

"No."

"It's just that it looked like you were going to ask me something. Okay, well Molly's right over there and I hope you enjoy your stay, Allie."

Molly, almost unrecognizable in a wide-brimmed straw hat with a muddied and paint-smeared apron worn over a long beige skirt and maroon sweater began waving a gloved hand wildly at Allie, indicating for her to join her on the veranda. Allie judged that Molly had already had a very busy morning as she was surrounded by baskets of freshly-picked flowers. Strewn about the low table that was now situated between them were two pairs of secateurs laid out open to dry, along with several sketch books and a few slim boxes of pastels. The massive hulk of a house composed of huge blocks of rough stone with the grand tower just to their left, boldly loomed above them, softened by intricately carved moldings and four huge columns of what appeared to be beautifully streaked rose-colored granite. Everything was starting to become a little surreal for Allie—and that was just fine.

_**Property, Glenbogle Estate**_

Martha MacDonald was lying comfortably across the back seat of the cab with her head nestled in her mother's lap, lightly dozing to the rhythm of the vehicle's droning engine.

"Princess, it's time." Lizzie stroked her daughter's hair gently, coaxing her from her sleepy state. Having just turned five, this was Martha's first visit to Glenbogle, the place where she was born.

"Oh Mummy, look It's a realcastle just like in Grandma's picture."

"Yes, it does look just like the painting of the house Grandma made for us, doesn't it?"

"Are there dragons and knights and dungeons in the castle?"

"Well, there might be some dragons," though Lizzie said this under her breath, her daughter heard her.

The 5-year-old's eyes became huge as saucers, "For real, Mummy?"

"No, there are no real dragons or knights, but there can be if…"

"If I use my imagination, isn't that right, Mummy?"

"That's right, Poppet!"

_**Glenbogle Estate, Veranda**_

"It's such a lovely day, Allie. Thought we might buckle down with my sketches and notes and your manuscript right out here, if that's alright with you?"

Pulling off her gloves, Molly reached for one of her sketch books. At first, Allie thought Molly's fingers and hands were all bruised until she realized that they were merely smudged with the pastels that she'd been using on her drawings.

"Yes, that's fine with me."

"Terrific! Ewan is supposed to be bringing out some things to nibble on, is there something in particular you'd like?"

"Nope my only request really is for coffee, if you have it."

"Yes, we've plenty of that! Ewan always has a fresh pot going. People are constantly in and out of the kitchen all day, you see. Round here we fill up thermoses with hot beverages like others fill water bottles!"

"Good morning, Ladies." Although it was Donald who'd spoken, Ewan was the first to appear at the door, bringing out a tray with coffee and a few edibles.

"Ewan, Donald, good morning. I hope you've brought us some coffee, I think Allie needs a caffeine fix!"

"Aye, Molly I have. Hello, again, Allie. Here we go. Cream and sugar?"

"Nope, I take it black."

"Aha! You're a purist!" Donald stood on the veranda near the table. "A woman after my own heart, and speaking of hearts," he faced Molly, "I thought I might take you out for that joy-ride today, Molly. You did promise you'd have a go with me, but now I see that you have company."

Handing Allie her coffee, Ewan nodded toward Donald and whispered in her ear, "Watch out for this one. He's pretty harmless and probably no match for you, being a city girl and all, still."

"Thanks Ewan," she whispered back, adding a wink, "you're right, I've handled far worse."

"Donald, allow me to introduce you to Allie Gace, she's visiting from the US. Written a children's book, she has. Allie this is my brother-in-law, Hector's younger brother, Donald MacDonald."

Allie rose slightly, flashing him a dimpled smile, "Good morning, Mr. MacDonald, it's nice to meet you."

"My dear, the pleasure is all mine." Though shaking her offered hand, he thought the better of kissing it as he normally would have done. Something told him she would have thought the action far too pretentious. "Are you from New York, by any chance?"

"No, I'm not. Are you familiar with New York?"

"Somewhat but isn't that the quintessential place to be from when someone says they are from the states? Well I suppose there's always Hollywood. Don't suppose you're from Hollywood?"

"No, I'm afraid Hollywood's a little too glamorous for me."

"So what brings you to Bonnie ol' Scotland then, eh?"

"Donald," Molly sat impatiently on the edge of her chair, "Donald I'm sure Allie would love to sit and chat with you and if you'd like, you may join us for a spot of coffee but we really must get down to business here." Opening up one of the drawing tablets, Molly showed Allie a sketch of a Mourning Dove.

"Yes, well, of course, I understand." But instead of leaving, Donald proceeded to drag a chair closer to them, pouring himself a cup of coffee before making himself comfortable.

_**Glenbogle Estate, Front Entrance**_

After paying the cab fare, Lizzie MacDonald stood transfixed in the middle of the gravel drive facing the house, their cases lying haphazardly around her where the driver had dropped them.

"Aren't we going in, Mummy?" Eager to see inside the castle, Martha tugged on her mother's sleeve, urging her to move forward.

"Yes in a moment." Suddenly it had hit Lizzie. This was the first time she was returning home since she had given birth to Martha; the first time she was returning home without her father there to greet her or argue with her, and she was unprepared for the emotions that overcame her.

"Lizzie?" Spotting his sister through an upper window as he opened the wooden shutters at the front of his bedroom, Archie banged on the glass panes, shouting out their names. Literally two seconds later he burst through the front doors. "My word, is it really you? And Martha! It's so good to see you both! We weren't expecting you, were we?" Archie's excitement turned to concern as he reached the pair. "Lizzie, are you okay?"

Trying bravely to smile and keep up a positive appearance for her daughter, Lizzie knelt down beside her. "Martha, do you remember Uncle Archie?"

"Yes he came to visit us once, didn't he? He brought me that stuffed teddy bear. It's the one with the ruffly pink dress. It says, "_I love you, Martha"_ when you pinch its paw."

"Yes, you are absolutely correct, Darling." Attempting to laugh, Lizzie looked up at her brother, "I don't know where she gets her memory from." "Now, how about you give your Uncle Archie a great big bear hug and kiss?" Martha did so and then Archie kissed his sister as well, rubbing her arm reassuringly, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Oh look Martha, there's Aunty Lexie."

Standing just inside the entry door, Hazel in her arms, Lexie waved and called out a hello then sensing the siblings needed some time alone she called for Martha to join her.

"Oh, hold on, Marth—why don't you bring Hazel the toy you brought for her, it's in the outside pocket of that bag right there."

Martha found the soft, wrapped package and, after giving her mother a quick hug round her legs, bolted off toward the house.

Lizzie drew in a sharp, quick breath that caught in her throat. "You know Archie; this is the first time I've been back since…"

"I know, Lizzie, I know."

"Oh Archie, he was a cantankerous old fool but I loved him so, so much. How do we go on without him?" Now sobbing, clinging to her younger brother for support and strength, Lizzie voiced her regrets, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for the funeral. How could I miss my own father's funeral? You must think I'm a horrible monster, letting you endure it all alone. Every one of the bloody reasons for why I couldn't come home seem like such rubbish now, mere excuses."

_**Kitchen, Glenbogle Estate**_

Entering the kitchen, Paul grabbed an apple from a bowl on one of the counters, polishing it on the front of his shirt.

"Hey," Ewan stepped out of the pantry, "where're you off to so early on a Saturday morning?"

"Mornin', Ewan. I'm meeting Golly. He's been having some trouble with one of the tenants. Apparently there's some dispute over whose land belongs to whom and Golly knows these boundaries like the back of his hand so," Paul dragged a round biscuit tin across the long wooden table, lifting the lid to check out its contents. It was filled with Allie's baklava. "Mmmm this looks tempting," choosing a good-sized piece he took a large, crumbly bite then tried to speak with his mouth full. "Mmphf. What is this? It's mfdelicious…mmm…did you make it?"

Before answering, Martha, Lexie and Hazel made their way noisily into the room.

"Hello," Martha chirped.

"Good morning! And who might we have here?" Paul leaned over to speak with her, wiping his mouth and hands on a dishrag that was lying nearby.

"My name is Martha MacDonald. And I'm five years old," she held up her right hand, all digits splayed. "Are you Uncle Archie's brother?"

"Nope. I'm his cousin," Paul quickly realized Martha MacDonald must be Lizzie's daughter, "and do you know what else? I'm your mother's cousin and your cousin, too."

"Oh," Martha smiled broadly. "What's your name?"

"My name is Paul."

"Do you have any children, Paul?"

"No, I do not."

"Oh," the youngster seemed markedly disappointed with this information. "Are you married, Paul?"

"No, I'm not."

"Oh," another apparent disappointment, Martha turned her attention to Lexie, reaching up to tickle the bottom of Hazel's feet.

Paul widened his eyes and made a silly face. "So I guess that's me done, then." Ewan laughed in response.

Lexie placed Hazel in a baby seat that was set atop the table. "Are you on your way out Paul, or do you have a minute?"

"Well a minute is really all I have. I'm off to meet Golly, Lex."

"About?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What are you meeting Golly about?"

"There's a land dispute with one of the tenants," Paul spoke rather indignantly.

"Shouldn't Archie be handling it, then? Land boundaries are the Laird's responsibility, are they not?"

"Right, yes well actually Archie knows about the dispute I happened to be in the office when Golly told him of the situation. I offered to look into it is all."

"That's all, is it," said a clearly perturbed Lexie, "I see."

"Well I'd best be going. Don't want to keep Golly waiting too long. It was nice meeting you, Martha." Giving the young chef a mistaken thumbs up sign as he made his exit Paul exclaimed, "Good going on the pastry, Ewan!"

_**Glenbogle Estate, Front Entrance**_

Archie helped his sister move her luggage into the house, lining the pieces up neatly by the main staircase. Sighing, Lizzie looked around the entry hall. Drawing near one of the walls where a shield, etched with the family's crest was hung, she straightened a crooked sword which was lying kitty-corner across its surface.

"I want to visit his grave. Not right at this moment, mind," she clarified, "but I want to visit it with you, while I'm here."

"Yes, of course, Lizzie."

"Och! Listen to me going on, me…me…me. What about you? Congratulations, Daddy." She hugged her brother again. "Lexie looks well; it seems as though she's lost most of her baby weight. She emailed me some pictures from Christmas and Hogmanay—by the way, who were all of those people visiting over the holidays?"

"Oh, do you remember Mother's friend, Jean Pargetter?"

"No, well vaguely I suppose. As you saw before my daughter does not get her memory from me. Didn't the Pargetter family visit us once when we were very young?"

"Yes, her daughter's name is Judy."

"Ah, yes, I do remember now. She had dimples, didn't she? I recall always wanting to have dimples too after her visit."

"Mother had met Judy at an art installation in Edinburgh and one thing led to another. Jean was a widow but she's remarried now to a man named Lionel Hardcastle."

"Well if I remember correctly, Judy has dark hair but there were a couple of blonds in the pictures as well. One of them looked fairly young."

Archie ran through the guest list in his head. "Oh, you mean Jess. She's Golly's daughter!"

"You're kidding?"

"Nope. She's finishing at Uni this year and the other blond was Sandy, Judy's business partner. Actually, you being the hopeless romantic will enjoy this story. When Judy arrived with her boyfriend Alistair and Sandy, Judy announced her engagement—Jean was overjoyed. And do you remember that banker from _Laselle's_, Fleming was his name?" Lizzie shook her head. "He was the one who First Foot on Hogmanay this year, showing up unexpectedly at midnight—it was Sandy who happened to open the door and voila, they hit it off brilliantly!"

"Wow, wonder if they're still together."

"Yup, Lexie's kept in touch with the ladies. That'll probably be another two weddings we'll have to attend. Anyway, speaking of love interests how is what's his name? Jimmy is it?"

"Yes, Jimmy. He's wonderful. Archie, when I met him, he was single—that was something new for me, he's actually never been married, he has no children," Lizzie twirled around once then leaned against the open library door.

"So, in other words, he's perfect."

"No, see, that's just it," Lizzie entered the library, followed by her brother. "Despite all of that, he's not perfect. He has flaws. He has flaws, Archie and yet I still really, really like him. In fact, I think I may love him." Lizzie peered out the windows facing the loch and groaned, "Oh Uncle Donald, I forgot he was here. Don't think I'm up for him now." She looked a little closer. "Who's that woman sitting with Mum and Donald?"

"I don't know. Mother's latest ingénue, I guess. She's American here on sabbatical or something. I think she's written a book."

"Well you sound rather callous towards her though she seems nice enough."

"She is nice enough. I don't know she just rubs me the wrong way or something."

"Really? Well I suppose nowhere is it written that we must like everyone that crosses our paths! Is she staying here?"

"Here? You mean here_,"_ Archie pointed downward, indicating their home, "in the house? No, thank heavens not!"

"Archie, I'm surprised at you!"

"We have a full-enough house already, Lizzie."

"Ah, that's right, that Paul fellow is staying here, too. Mother told me about him. What's he like?"

"He's a good chap. Really, he is. Nothing like Donald, trust me. You can form your own opinion of him when you meet him."

"All right, c'mon, let me get this over with. I must go meet Uncle Donald!"

_**Interior, Glenbogle Estate**_

Allie found herself smack in the middle of a MacDonald family reunion. Moving off to the side she observed how they greeted one another, mother and daughter embracing each other so tightly, communicating so effectively without words. Not wanting to disturb their moment together, Allie managed to grab her bag and slip into the house. Allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkened room, Allie saw she was in the library. Taking some time, she looked at the rows and rows of primarily cloth and leather bound books, tilting her head to read some of the spines. The titles ranged from literary classics to history and prose, as well as huge atlases and several tomes on the story of the Clan MacDonald. She glanced at the many photos placed in various spots around the room. Some in black and white clearly dated back to the 1800's while others were more current, displaying members of the family she had already met.

Moving out to the entry hall which was now so deafeningly quiet compared to the night before, she decided to search for the kitchen, slowly working her way down a hall to the left where a row of chairs, lined up like sentinels sat guarding the dining room. Above this wall, ominously perched at the very top were huge animal heads each jutting out several feet, their gnarled antlers and mouths open just enough, appearing as if they were going to speak. Although they made Allie squeamish she could hardly take her eyes off of them, trying to read their emotions, looking beyond their glassy stares, listening for them to tell her their stories.

Pulling herself away from the heads, she took a right through an open door and found herself in another, less ornate corridor with a dark green painted floor that looked as though it would be very slippery if wet. Following it along until the noises and smells of the kitchen finally emerged; she was lured straight to her destination.

Allie rapped lightly on the kitchen door. "Hello, may I come in?"

"Yeh, sure. Can I get you something?" Ewan had been sitting at the kitchen table chatting with Duncan. There was a sports magazine lying open on the table between them.

"No I was actually wondering if I could hang out here for a while. Molly's daughter just arrived."

"You mean Lizzie," Duncan questioned.

"I guess. I didn't really catch her name. It seemed like Molly hadn't seen her for a while so I just sort of let myself into the house."

The family dog known as Useless came trotting into the room. Approaching Allie, he rose up on his hind legs, putting his front paws on her thigh in greeting.

"Och! Down, boy," Ewan reprimanded.

"Useless! Hello boy, how are you?" Allie laughed as his tongue lapped at her hand, giving her kisses.

"Wow, that's surprising," said Duncan. "Useless, he never goes to anybody except Molly and Archie's cousin Paul. Did you meet the dog earlier?"

"No, but I saw a print of the portrait that Molly painted of him when she showed me her portfolio. She said he was her husband's dog."

"Aye, he was. Do you know how Hector died?" Allie indicated that she didn't. "It was really tragic," Duncan described with a reasonable amount of detail Hector's water hunt for the menacing pike, how it had led to Hector's demise and how Lizzie had not been able to make it home for the funeral. Allie was saddened by the horrible story and truly felt sorry for Molly's loss, but she also felt a little funny hearing it from someone other than Molly herself, as if she were listening to some of Liz's skewed gossip at the B & B, though Allie had no doubt Duncan was telling her the truth.

**************

For a good part of the afternoon Allie spent her time sitting at a desk in a corner of the kitchen, ticking away on her laptop, fully engrossed with her writing. Ewan was amazed at her concentration, having to call her name loudly several times when offering her a cup of tea or a bite to eat. When Molly had met up with her again, she apologized profusely, calling her actions rude. But Allie said she understood, and she did, reluctantly explaining how she'd been told of her husband's catastrophic death, hoping she hadn't crossed any unwritten lines that would jeopardize their promising friendship.

**************

Discouraged to discover the Keough Gallery Bill McGinty had mentioned at their meeting closed on Sunday, Allie chose to visit on Tuesday, though an uncompromising schedule meant her only free time would be at 6pm, an hour before the gallery closed. Still, taking the brisk walk to the studio just outside the center of town, she was determined to at least have a glimpse of Molly's scenic paintings.

Quietly, Allie viewed the exhibit, dodging the curator who would walk through the space every so often wondering, presumably and understandably, if she was a potential buyer or just someone looking to pass away some time. Therefore she was quite surprised when whole banks of lights started going out and the stodgy man with the pressed pin stripe suit made one final trip round the space indicating in a very hushed voice, though it did not appear that he would be bothering anyone if he had spoken up, that it was nearly 6:50 and the gallery would be closing shortly.

Flustered, Allie made her way to the front catching sight of her reflection in the wall of glass that ran along one side. Then she saw him through the glass. There was no denying what she'd seen, peering directly through the front window. It was indeed her mystery man. Rushing down the street toward the shop, wearing the same rugged leather jacket and fisherman's cap, Allie hoped to catch him before he passed by. Making one giant leap to the front door, she awkwardly cried out, "Hello!"

Startled, Paul turned toward the voice, taking a minute to register the face of the woman standing before him.

"I was just leaving the gallery and I happened to see you pass by," Allie was losing confidence by the minute, realizing that her mystery man might not even remember who she was.

"Ah, yes, have been through there myself. Some interesting stuff they have, too." Plain gibberish, Paul did not know what he was saying, uncommon for him to be so tongue-tied. Not helping the situation in the least was the Community Meeting due to start literally in minutes, which he'd given Archie his word he'd attend.

Allie soldiered on, "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go for a coffee. Had a story you wanted to share with me." She couldn't believe that she was asking him out. She didn't even know his name.

"Well," Paul wanted desperately to join her for coffee but he knew it impossible. "It's just that I have this thing to go to," he stammered, thinking himself a pratt, not wanting to admit to this obviously city-wise woman that he was obliged to attend a hokey, small town community meeting.

"Oh right, fine," Allie started backing away, feeling a redness rising up her neck and spreading across the sides of her face.

"If I could invite you, I would," Paul knew how stupid he sounded, but the meeting was off-limits to non-members.

"Paul," a petite woman with a head of thick hair cut in a no-fuss style called out to him from a building just down the street, "are you ready? Don't want to start without you," she coyly sang.

"Be there in a jiff, Isobel."

Allie walked away without looking back.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Later that evening, feeling worn and dejected from his run-in with Allie and from all of the complaints exposed at the meeting, Paul walked into Glenbogle's darkened kitchen intent on eating a snack before bed. Reaching for the tin of baklava which he was slowly polishing off himself, he plunked down at the very desk Allie had been sitting at a few days before. He savored every bite of the first piece but before helping himself to another, he decided on glass of milk. Readying himself to stand his left foot slipped on something on the floor. Unable to identify the cause in the weak light, he switched on the desk lamp. Several sheets of printed paper laying this way and that littered the floor beneath the table, some wedged between the table leg and an adjacent cupboard. Thinking they might be important, he gathered into a neat pile and thumbed through them, trying in vain to figure out what they were and to whom they belonged. None were titled or numbered but each contained notations made along the edges. He began to read one:

_Emily walked over to the stove where her grandmother was cooking a small pot of rice and stewed homegrown tomatoes. Nanny had a thin frame with grey hair neatly combed back off her face and wore thick glasses with bubble-like lenses. And always she'd held tightly in her hand or tucked up her sleeve, a crumpled tissue. Next to the stove, Emily spied a Ball jar sitting temptingly on the tin-topped table, remnants of stewed tomatoes still stuck to the sides and bottom. Picking it up, she impulsively stuck one of her fingers inside the jar. Catching a tiny piece of the tart fruit, she plopped it into her mouth. It tasted like summer. It was one of the last jars from the basement shelves. Grampy had stopped canning tomatoes about four years before._

_Emily reminisced about running home from school to find her grandfather hard at work in his dark, dank cellar. On canning days he'd wear a starched white apron that he had saved from the soda shop he used to own. Working alone, smelling of sweat and tobacco, he'd sit on a high, rickety red stool with his back to the door. As he quickly and methodically sliced the tomatoes into chunks, the red-orange, pulpy juice would drip from his hands. They'd fall with a plop and a squish into a large metal pot on the ground below him. Another pot would boil rapidly on the small stove he had installed just for this purpose, steaming up the cracked mirror on the medicine cabinet above. _

Intrigued by the story and the oddity of finding the pages, but too tired to read through all of them that night, Paul carried them off with him.

_**Glenbogle Village, the Bed & Breakfast**_

Late the next evening Allie was all in a dither, answering Liz shortly when asked if she could be of any assistance. Though she scoured every conceivable surface for the pages of a new manuscript she'd been working on, she couldn't find them anywhere. Liz was patient, allowing Allie to lash out, figuring there was more to her frustration since she hadn't seemed like herself all day. Stifling the urge to ask Allie why she hadn't kept a back-up copy of her notes, Liz kindly tried to help her piece together her whereabouts, marking the moments of her days minute by minute. Then in a flash it occurred to Allie where she'd last worked on the manuscript, the day she'd spent at Glenbogle. Ringing the Big House, she waited eagerly for a response.

"Hullo?"

"Hi, who's this?"

"It's Ewan…is this Allie?"

"Yes, it is. Ewan you haven't happened to come across some papers of mine, have you?"

"Nope, I don't think so. What kind of papers were they Allie?"

"They were part of a manuscript I'm working on. It's very important to me that I find them."

"I'm sorry, Allie I haven't." Ewan could sense the weariness in her voice. "Are you sure you were working on them here?"

"Yes, last Saturday when I spent time in the kitchen."

"Hold up, let me go and take a squint round the kitchen. Can I call you back? Are you still at the B & B?"

"Yes, I'm here," Allie glanced at her watch, "I hate to be a pain, but please hurry if you could."

Allie paced back and forth, jumping on the phone when it rang. "Ewan? Any luck?"

"No, Allie, I'm really sorry. Do you have it saved on your computer?"

"I do but those copies had all of my notes," she sighed heavily, "it's just so hard find a printer to hook my laptop up to and I like to make my notations on hard copies so that I can keep track of the changes made."

"Well, I could print out the pages for you, if that helps. Just email them to me and I can print them out right now and drive them down to you."

"Thanks for the offer, Ewan but I'm actually heading out."

"Well, if you change your mind."

"Thanks, yes I'll keep it in mind."

_**Kitchen, Glenbogle Estate**_

"Did you finally lose all your marbles," Paul asked, finding Ewan searching the kitchen floor.

"He-he—very funny, Paul. No I'm looking for something."

"Yes, I can see that. What is it you're looking for? Maybe I can help?"

"Pages from a manuscript, Paul, that's what I'm looking for."

"Sorry, pages from what?"

"From a manuscript, you know like writing. That American woman lost them and she thought she might've left them here. This was where she was sitting but I don't see them anywhere."

"What American woman?"

"You know the one who's working with Molly."

"No, I don't, Ewan. Who do you mean?"

"There's an American woman, her name is Allie Gace. She's been to the house a few times now, you haven't met her?"

"Allie Gace. Yes, I think I have met her. But not here." Paul was thinking out loud to himself, "You said she lost pages to a story? What was the story about?"

"I don't know, Paul. Look, what does it matter anaway?"

"Because I think I may have already found them."

_**En Route to Glenbogle Village**_

Racing to the Bed & Breakfast, Paul ran into the office looking for Liz. "Hi, I need to speak with one of your guests, a woman by the name of Allie Gace."

"Aye, she's staying here." Liz eyed Paul suspiciously, "You're Donald MacDonald's son, aren't you?"

"Yes," Paul tried to remain calm.

"Quite good looking, you are. Much more good looking than your father, I dare say!"

Paul smiled politely. "Listen, I really need to speak to Ms. Gace."

"Well, I'm sorry, she's not here."

"She's not here?"

"Nope."

"Do you know where she might be?"

"She stepped out."

Paul sighed. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"No, I don't."

"Thanks!" Paul refrained from saying, _thanks for nothing_ and turned to leave.

"She's at the church, lad."

"Excuse me?"

"She's at the church, the small one up at Glenbogle. I don't really know what she's doing there. Said something about it being Holy Week? Anaway, said she got permission to visit the kirk or something. She's a very nice girl, but that seemed a bit odd to me. That's where she was heading when she left, it might be a good idea for you to check on her."

And that's just what Paul intended to do.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

_**What is Faith?**_

Paul pulled the truck over to the side of the road then sprinted up the hill toward the church. Though a light rain had begun to fall he'd already removed his hat. Not having grown up with religion in his life he was uncomfortable with the atmosphere of churches, unsure of the correct protocol but, he found, common decency had always been a safe bet. Even when his mother passed away, there was no elaborate service performed, no special rites given or even a proper eulogy said instead a simple blessing was administer by the vicar whom the funeral parlor had on retainer. And afterward, a solo order of soggy, salty fish-n-chips take-away sufficed, albeit unknowingly by him, as the traditional mercy meal.

Hesitating at the door of the small stone church he entered with apprehension—it wasn't like being on the frontlines leading his men through sniper fire across enemy fields, saving the lives of innocent people he had never met in countries he probably never would have traveled to otherwise. No, that he could handle. This was something entirely different. Stepping up into the main space he found the interior cold and dreary, as shadowy shapes were cast along the rough-hewn walls from votives placed here and there. Grabbing one of the candles Paul headed down the center aisle wondering what exactly it was about this setting that helped people find such solace and comfort.

Glancing over to the right, Paul could barely make out the silhouette of Allie's soft shoulder-length hair, her head tilted slightly to the left just as she had held it the first time he'd spoken to her in the shop. So as not to scare her he tried to make his presence know by clearing his throat, but she did not move. Approaching cautiously Paul said her name just above a whisper, "Allie Gace?" Still, there was no response. Becoming increasingly concerned he spoke up a little louder, "Excuse me, Ms. Gace," then moved further down the aisle beyond the pew where she was sitting. As he passed by the shifting light from a flickering candle set beside her caused Allie to open her eyes and let out a gasp.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you. I guess you didn't hear me come in."

Allie reached up to her ears and pulled off a pair of bud-style earphones then switched a button on her laptop which was positioned on the seat to her right. "No, it's me. I was lost in some music." She kept her eyes on the stranger standing before her, recognizing that he wasn't just any stranger but, rather,her stranger yet somehow she wasn't feeling quite the same joy and excitement as she'd initially felt when seeing him the night before. She began packing up her things.

"Where are you going?"

"Well it was my understanding that I could stay in the church for as long as I liked this evening but if the space is needed," Allie looked around, realizing Paul was alone.

"No, there's nothing planned at the church for tonight. Actually I came here to find you."

"Why?" Allie was beginning to panic, becoming conscious of the fact that she hadn't really thought through her evening's plans, situating herself in such a remote area where the cell phone reception was dodgy and the terrain very unfriendly to anyone not used to tramping across its slippery, uneven surface.

"I think I have something you've been looking for." He handed her the sheets of paper which he'd slipped into a plastic binder.

Allie leaned toward the candle, sliding the papers out of the binder just enough so she could tell what they were. "These are the pages I lost."

Paul was getting ready to go, "Well I'll leave you to your, um praying."

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say thank you, you don't know how much it means to me to have these back."

"Sure, it's no problem and for what it's worth, I thought the portion that I read was brilliant. Oh and I'm sorry about the boot prints on a couple of the pages," Paul grimaced, "I'd found them scattered on the floor."

"At Glenbogle?"

"Yup. Okay, well I'll be seeing you."

"Bye," an uncertainty in her voice, Allie was trying to fit all of the pieces together.

"Can I just say one thing?" Paul came back and stood in the pew in front of her, "I'm sorry about last night."

"There's no need to be." Allie stiffened, losing her grip on the binder.

"I really would like to apologize. I had…"

"You had other plans. Yes, I did get that impression."

"I had to attend a town meeting," Paul persevered despite Allie's frosty demeanor, "that's why I couldn't invite you. Members only I'm afraid," he tried to laugh.

"That makes sense," Allie snipped.

"Not that you would have wanted to go anyway."

"Really and why's that? Do you presume to know what I like?"

"Well no, but," Paul stammered, realizing he was losing ground. The more he tried to explain the more complicated the situation became. The surrounding darkness, both blessing and curse provided some anonymity, though also meant they were cheated out of reading each other's faces. Reactions, tell-tale little signs relied upon, which only observation could relay.

"Paul."

"Yes?" He was surprised that she knew his name.

"No, I've just realized something. Last night someone called you by the name Paul. You're Archie MacDonald's cousin Paul, aren't you?"

"I am. I understand you've been up to the house a few times. Passing ships, us. We seem to have missed each other several times. I guess it's been right church, wrong pew huh?" He laughed and rolled his eyes, "Well, no pun intended." Allie had to laugh too, despite herself. "You know, I would really like a second chance, if you'd allow it." Offering his hand he addressed her directly, "Hi, I'm Paul Bowman." Allie raised her nerve-induced, ice-cold hand to meet his and when they touched, the warmth of his strong, gentle and sure hand enveloped her, comforting her right down to her very soul.

Almost instantly, Paul reacted to her frigid handshake. "You're freezing, Allie. Here, please, take my jacket."

Allie pulled her hand away quickly, "No really, I'm fine." She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking in her hands. "Nerves," she said in explanation, feeling exposed and embarrassed, "I can't help it."

Paul sat down sideways on the pew in front of her, "Well, you know what they say," his voice, very tender with not a hint of mockery or sarcasm, "Cold hands warm heart."

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

"Martha My Love," Molly roamed around an upstairs hall, calling out for her granddaughter. "Martha My Love, where are you?"

"I'm in here, Grandma," sounded a tiny voice from the distance, "I'm in Hazel's nurs-ry."

Molly strolled into the nursery, completely by-passing Lizzie and Lexie who were looking at some of Hazel's baby things. "I'm sorry," Molly spoke to her daughter, "I'm in need of your Martha's help. She must come with me straight away." Bending down to her granddaughter's eye-level she whispered, "Martha My Love, are you ready to help me with something really, super duper important?" Martha nodded her head yes emphatically. "Right you are then, let's go. Hup, two, three, four," marching, Molly ushered the youngster out of the room.

"Goodbye, Mummy!" Martha waved to her mother from the doorway.

"See you later, alligator!"

"In a while, crocodile," Molly chimed in to the amusement of the five-year-old.

**************

"Ta-da!" The MacDonald matriarch walked an excited Martha into the kitchen. "You see, Ewan has made me a delicious strawberry sundae but it's much, much too big for me to eat all by myself. I thought who would be the perfect person to help me and then I thought of you!"

"Mmmm," Martha licked her lips and eagerly scrambled up onto one of the kitchen stools, picking up the long iced-tea spoon which was laid out on a napkin in front of her. She started digging into the confection before Molly even had a chance to sit down.

They could hear footsteps approaching. "Golly? My goodness, I haven't seen you in ages, it seems! Drag up a stool. Could I have Ewan get you a bit of dessert?"

"No thanks, Molly I'm fine." Golly took a mug off an over-head shelf and poured himself a cup of coffee. He leaned against one of the wooden counters.

Putting down her spoon, Molly turned round to face the ghillie. "For goodness sakes, Golly why aren't you joining us? Please, sit here."

Reluctantly Golly took a seat, winking at Martha, "Aye, my wee Lassie are you enjoying your icy?"

Martha smiled and shook her head, her mouth and cheeks smeared with a syrupy mix of light pink melted ice cream and bright red sauce. Clumsily she wiped her face with the napkin, remembering the manners her mother had been trying to teach her.

"Golly you're even quieter than usual this evening. Is everything all right?"

"Oh aye Molly, everything's fine." This wasn't exactly true. Golly wanted desperately to tell her how much she meant to him; how for years, he'd lay awake at night just thinking about her, how his missing presence around the Big House wasn't coincidental. He felt Donald was getting the wrong end of the stick, trying to woo her as he had done years before. It was bad enough feeling as though he could never be her equal, but to have that untrustworthy con, that bon vivant poser vying for her attention. History was repeating itself. Once again he was jealous of the man who had the courage—the audacity, to flirt with another man's wife, for he knew Molly's heart still belonged to Hector.

He regretted having confronted Donald days before, disappointed in himself for having had words with him, nasty words, cussing him out. Normally able to control his behavior, he'd actually threatenedDonald, his conduct hearkening back to those dark, dark days of his youth when he was living on the dole, drinking away whatever pittance he could scrape together. The beastly instincts which were so vital for surviving life on the streets had resurfaced. And as a result of his behavior, letting it get the best of him his fondness for Molly was now out in the open. He wasn't sure that Hector would have ever approved of his dear wife pairing herself off with Golly, but he knew for certain that a relationship with his younger brother, in Hector's eyes, would have been tantamount to treason. Though it had been Donald's choice to leave Glenbogle, cowardly slipping away during the night like a thief, never during the time of his absence had Golly ever heard Hector mention his brother again.

"How are your illustrations coming along?" Hoping to divert attention away from him, Golly asked Molly a question about her current project which she had told him about in great detail the week before when he'd driven her into the village for her meeting with the publisher. Knowing how excited she was, how her voracity for life and learning and taking on new tasks, so much a part of what attracted Golly to her in the first place had been missing in her life of late.

"Splendid! I've had Allie—that's the name of the author and a lovely woman she is, from America, too—up to the house, but our last meeting was interrupted as Lizzie had arrived. I felt so terrible cutting our time short."

"Well, I'm sure she understood."

"Yes, indeed, she said she did, hmph," Molly paused for few moments, pondering.

"What is it, Molly?"

"I was just thinking, I wonder if she's single. Well, no mind," she patted Golly on the arm, giving him a little squeeze then turned to her granddaughter who was now looking a little green around the gills from eating so much of the sweet. "Martha My Love, if you're quite finished—and I think you are, it's just about time for you to tell me one of your wonderfully creative stories. You wouldn't believe the imagination she has, Golly! I'm amazed and a little biased too, I suppose!" The ghillie smiled broadly and nodded, offering to clear the table while Molly and Martha skipped off to bed hand in hand.

_**Church, Glenbogle**_

"Ewan mentioned you were staying at the B & B in the village then Liz told me that you had come here. She was a little concerned about you being up here all by yourself. How did you get here?"

Allie was touched, hearing how much Paul had gone through to find her. "It was quite an adventure, actually," she laughed at her fiasco en route, "I rode one of those scooter thingies or at least, I tried to. I was having a heck of a time finding my balance, spent half the time walking, dragging it beside me. Thank goodness the area is virtually desolate I probably gave the wildlife a hilarious show, though! And poor Liz, I was a little abrupt with her today. It might not have been the wisest decision on my part to come up here all alone. I just had to be here tonight."

"Why? I'm sorry, I don't mean any disrespect, but Liz mentioned something about it being Holy Week?"

"Yes, it is, the week that leads up to Pascha or Easter."

Paul looked confused. "Right, but wasn't Easter something like five weeks ago?"

"I'm Eastern Orthodox," Allie explained, "so I go by the Eastern calendar. Pascha always follows the first full moon after the beginning of the Jewish Passover. But five weeks is the longest time the two holidays are separated, each following year they come closer together until they finally fall on the same day."

"Hmm. I never knew that I usually rely on one of those pre-printed calendars the ones that always seem to pile up in my mail box come January first to tell me when holidays are near. Well that and the rows of gimmicky holiday-related items lining the store shelves!" Allie chuckled. The rain had started picking up, sending sprays of droplets in waves against the tiny windows of the kirk.

"I'm not a very religious person, didn't grow up in the church so anything spiritual," Paul indicated the surroundings, "is a bit foreign to me." Blowing out a sputtering candle which had melted down to the quick, Paul rose and walked up to the front of the church to light a few more. His gait was smooth and natural, his posture straight, unlike other tall people Allie knew, who, perhaps subconscious of their height, stood with sloped shoulders and bent neck. Upon returning, Paul placed some freshly lit candles around them and, retaining one chose to sit in the same pew as Allie. He wanted to hear more. He liked listening to her voice which he found both authoritative yet modest. "Is there something significant about tonight?"

"It's Holy Wednesday, the blessing of oil. It's a very quiet, peaceful service, there's no music or hymns sung just some chanting is done and at the end the priest anoints people's foreheads with the blessed oil." Sitting diagonal to each other and in such close proximity, Allie could smell a faint hint of Paul's aftershave which, being both sweet and spicy was reminiscent of the oil. "Mmmm I can still smell the scent of the rose-water tinged oil."

Transported momentarily back to the states and to her own church, Allie could almost hear the light jingling of the censer as the priest swung it slowly, the fragrant incense perfuming the air around them with a thick, flowery aroma; and then, the inevitable distinct sound of cellophane being unwrapped, as someone opened a sweet in an attempt to quietly soothe their throats from the coughing fit that undoubtedly would resume. Shaking herself out of the memory, Allie stretched out her legs, accidentally kicking Paul's foot. Though he immediately pulled his feet away, Allie realized that her left knee was still touching his right.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Allie watched as Paul slowly and gracefully traced his index finger along the etching of a cross on the side of the glass votive he was holding, the backs of his steady hands slender with sinewy veins extending in long, elegant branches. Every so often she would catch a glimpse of his face in the light, his strong jaw darkened with just a hint of facial hair, his bright blue eyes appearing almost troubled.

"The services on Friday and Saturday nights are much more elaborate—the hymns sung are beautiful," Allie continued, shutting down her laptop. "That's what I've been listening to, a recording of this music. Attending church had almost become rote for me and I found myself just going through the motions. But now here I am, during the most sacred time of the spiritual calendar, alone, in another country, isolated from family and friends and all of a sudden it all holds so much more meaning for me. What's that adage…you don't know what you're missing until it's gone? Anyway, it's probably silly."

Paul was taking all of this in, trying to understand, thinking about his own heritage and how he was grappling with what it all meant and how it fit into his own life. He wanted to tell her that she wasn't really alone, that he would be happy to call her his friend—or, even something more than that if only she'd let him. But he knew that was crazy, they'd only just met and he was much too cautious a man to entertain any such ideas this early on.

Feeling in a reflective mood himself however, Paul was compelled to share a story from his own past. "It's not silly at all, it's admirable, actually. A few years back I was in the army stationed in Kosovo. Everyone I met there was so friendly and welcoming despite the difficult situation they were in, the struggle for freedom, for living, really. They are a very proud people. Honestly, I don't know how they managed to stay so positive, given the strife they faced daily."

"They had faith."

"But what does that mean, faith. What is faith? How can such an abstract idea provide such hope and succor?"

"Well, the very description of faith is a belief in something that hasn't been proven exists."

Paul took a deep breath, "So, I guess it's like that old George Michael song right," he crooned in a corny manner, though definitely on-key, "Ooohh…_You gotta have faith, faith, faith, ahhh_…I'm sorry," he joked, "I hope that's not considered sacrilegious or anything."

Allie was amused and smitten. She knew, at least in her experience that it was uncommon to find someone with whom one automatically clicked. She felt so at ease talking with his man she barely knew. Though she didn't believe in love at first sight they'd had a rocky start and she was grateful for this impromptu meeting, a setting and circumstance that couldn't have been further away from a traditional first date.

"So is your Mother the sister of Donald and Hector MacDonald?"

"No um, here's the story I had promised to tell you the other day. My Mum was on staff at Glenbogle years ago, before I was born. But I never knew that and I never knew much about my father. She passed away—it'll be coming up on a year now." Allie whispered that she was sorry for his loss. "I came to the Highlands to find my father."

"And did you?"

"Yes. My father is Donald MacDonald."

"Donald?"

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, no, he's a charming um, character." Allie smiled, "But you're nothing like him."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"It is. Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope. It was just me and my Mum."

"And Donald never bothered to find you?"

"He didn't know. It's really complicated. I think the whole incident has caught everyone by surprise. After I found out I was a bit overwhelmed. I left for a while, sold my Mum's house and came back here in hopes of I don't know, setting down my roots somewhere."

"Well that's nice you've found family."

"Yes but," Paul seemed reluctant to say anymore.

"I don't mean to pry; you don't have to say anything more."

Paul had actually felt very comfortable talking to Allie and would have answered any question she asked of him, he just didn't have the right words to say how he felt. "The MacDonalds are really into their history and I don't get all of the fuss about traditions and ancestry—it all seems so antiquated to me. But it's the way of life at Glenbogle. When they held a dinner for me, to welcome me into the family after I decided to remain here permanently, it was this big ta-do, the pipes were played and the family and even some of the guests dressed in their Tartans. Seeing my cousin Archie in a kilt, now that was a sight for sore eyes!"

"Awww, so does that mean that I'll never catch a glimpse of your knobby knees in a kilt," Allie joked, delightfully envisioning such an image.

"Erm nope, sorry, it's not likely!" Though Paul was thrilled at the prospect if it meant they might see each other again. "And my knees," Paul chided, "are not knobby, thank you very much!" He touched her arm lightly, letting it linger there for a moment. "I know I'm probably being stubborn or pig-headed even."

"No, I can understand. My real name is Albana Gaçe, pronounced Gat-seh," she said with an accented flair, "but I go by Allie Gace because it sounds less ethnic. Don't get me wrong, I love my heritage and am very proud of it, I think it's an important thing to have in one's life. Keeping alive customs and the traditions helps us to connect with the past and to our ancestors. It's what makes us all so unique. You just have to find the balance that's right for you."

*********

While they conversed, the rain had picked up even more, pouring from the sky in great big sheets. Allie talked about past Easters, of coming home from church at 2 in the morning and spending the day at her grandparent's home, where helping Babi carve the lamb in the kitchen meant being treated to choice morsels before anyone else had a taste. She spoke of the fun they had cracking red Easter eggs in the traditional fashion and how Nana never minded picking up the broken shells ground into the oriental carpets as long as everyone was happy and having a good time. How it wasn't uncommon for one of the elders to break out their guitar or buzuki and strum a few traditional songs for everyone to sing along or gathering everyone together, four generations strong for a post-meal walk by the water. But it was getting very late, and though it may have been tempting to stay tucked in the church all night with just the heat from their bodies providing warmth Allie knew that, for many reasons, it was out of the question.

Having blown out all of the candles, returning them to the stand off to the side, Paul gave one final check around before securely shutting the door. How he wished he could have driven the truck right up to the door, saving them both from being drenched in the downpour, but that simply wasn't possible. Taking the scooter with one hand, Paul held out his other arm for Allie to grab onto for support. Thankful for the added stability, Allie held on with both hands and together they slipped and slid down the hill. All had gone quite well, in fact, until they'd just about reached the truck. With one final leap onto the muddy roadway, the heel of Allie's right boot became lodged in the muck, making her stop short. Paul jolted forward, breaking Allie's grasp on his arm. Realizing she was stuck he reached back, leaning way down to help her. Their faces were within inches of each other. She could feel his hot breath, staggered and heavy, pulsating down on her cheeks and forehead—and then she was freed.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

The minute Paul was back at Glenbogle after safely returning Allie to the B & B sans a goodnight kiss—for the windows had eyes, but with full intentions of calling upon her again, he turned on the kitchen's laptop and set to work. And this is where Lizzie, shod in a bathrobe and slippers, scuffed down the hall to find him.

"A bit late to be playing solitaire, isn't it cousin?"

"Hi, Lizzie."

"Let's see, what are you up to?" She walked around the side of the table to take a peek over his shoulder. "Paul, you're soaking wet!" Although he had removed his leather jacket, Paul had remained in his damp clothes. Lizzie pulled open one of the cupboard drawers and found a towel big enough for him to throw over his shoulders.

"Ah, cheers, Lizzie." Though grateful for his cousin's attention, he was annoyed that she was nosing into his business.

"Eastern Orthodoxy, huh? What? Are you thinking of converting? Or possibly taking up a religion I mean who knows, maybe you're an Atheist." Paul didn't answer. Disappearing into the pantry, Lizzie rummaged around for something. "Aha! Found it!" She emerged holding up a bottle of whiskey. "Father's private stock, well, his kitchen private stock. He has bottles stashed all around the house. He had—can't get used to that—bottles stashed all around the house. No doubt they're still all there." She reached for some glasses. "Let's toast."

"Um none for me thanks."

"None? Are you a teetotaler? Donald MacDonald's son doesn't have a taste for liquor?"

"Nah not that stuff, anyway."

Making a face and repeating the word stuff, which Paul did not notice, she sat down opposite him. Paul reached for the round biscuit tin of baklava which, being considerably lighter given how many pieces he'd already eaten slid very easily across the table, "I'll have one of these instead."

"What's that, the baklava?" Paul nodded. "Any good," Lizzie questioned, "I'm really not one for sickeningly-sweet pastries."

"These are fabulous. Ewan did a great job."

"Ewan? Ewan didn't make those."

"He didn't?" Paul put down his half-eaten piece.

"No, Mother told me it was that American girl—Abby something or other, who made them."

"_Allie_," Paul corrected her.

"Allie, aye yes, that's it. Have you met her? Mother can't talk enough about her and Archie has taken a distinct disliking to her."

"Really," disconcerted, Paul resumed his internet search, "So what are you doing up so late?"

"Thinking, that's all I've been doing. Trying to muster up the courage to visit Dad's grave. I'm going tomorrow with Archie. We had a tenuous relationship at best but still I miss him so dearly. I try to be cavalier about it I just can't seem to reconcile things in my mind. Being away it was easy to dismiss my feelings, being in this house I see him everywhere I look. Absolutely everything," she tipped the bottle of whiskey and laughed, "reminds me of him. And I feel like I let him down. Theoretically I know no one could have predicted his demise but how selfish was I not to have come home, to say goodbye to him properly. I gave myself a break because I was on a different continent when it all happened. Why have I waited so long to return? It's been nearly five years. Five years." Lizzie realized she was thinking out loud, voicing rhetorical questions that required no response but Paul was kind enough to let her prattle on. "What is it with the elder MacDonald men, eh?" Lizzie sighed focusing her attention on Paul. "You know it really bothers me that I can't read that look on your face right now. So tell me, what is it you're really looking up?"

"Any information I can find on Pascha."

"You mean Orthodox Easter? It's coming up this Sunday. What do you want to know?"

Puzzled, Paul looked up at Lizzie.

"What? I haven't been living under a rock somewhere, you know. Besides, Jimmy, he's my current, is Greek. Dhimitri Katsopoulos. Jimmy the Greek. He comes from a large family and Pascha is a big, big deal at his house. They roast a lamb and they do the red Easter egg thing—they do all of it. Anyway, you'll have the chance to meet him; he's coming up on Friday."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

_**Laying Blame**_

Allie woke to find her right ankle, the one she'd twisted the night before in the muddy road swollen to nearly twice its size. Following Liz's very explicit instructions—because old wives' tales had waged the test of time for a reason, she'd explained—Allie decided to take it easy for the day. Settling in the lounge with a few magazines and a cup of chamomile tea, her foot propped up on several pillows with a packet of frozen peas securely attached to the ankle, Liz's last words to her rang in her ears, _You mean to tell me, after all of this he didn't even give you a proper goodnight kiss?_

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Lizzie was up very early the next morning as well though, restless in body and mind in all probability, she'd never actually gone to bed. Commandeering a section of the kitchen, tucking herself in beside the refrigerator, teetering on the edge of a tall metal stool with a wall phone and blank notebook at the ready, she put her PR skills to work preparing to make Easter happen at Glenbogle. She hadn't given much thought as to why she was so whole-heartedly throwing herself into the preparations for this shindig for a cousin she'd barely just met and a woman she'd only seen from a distance, but the distraction was definitely welcomed. There wasn't anything quite like the feeling of being energized and alive again.

Lizzie's first call was to Jimmy. Not surprised by her latest whim he'd become used to and had even admired Lizzie's nature of going wherever the wind blew her, and in this case gathering and transporting the fixings for a superb ethnic holiday fete was at least something within Jimmy's realm. Next on her list was locating an Orthodox Church, but with only three in the whole of Scotland, the closest being the Cathedral of St. Luke's in Glasgow—nearly a 3-hour drive from the highlands—on a good day, attending midnight services on Saturday per Paul's suggestion was not looking terribly feasible.

Relaying this information to her cousin he, eager to put Molly in his favor was situated at the other end of the room, having cleverly offered to install her digital camera's software onto her laptop. Meanwhile, Molly, keeping tabs on Paul's progress—for he had also promised to upload her pictures, too—simultaneously discussed recipes with Ewan, listening patiently to the young chef's latest ideas for perfecting his spinach pie technique. Excited about the upcoming feast Molly would periodically wonder out loud why Lizzie had never thought to mention to her that Jimmy was Greek. Interspersed with these comments and triggered by glimpses of thumbnail images of her holiday pics, Molly would shout out favored highlights from her trip, describing how long lines of dancers wearing ethnic costumes would link together hand in hand in a huge semi-circle, performing intricate dance steps, snaking their way through the crowds, whooping and whistling and encouraging people to join in the fun, which she and Jolyon did on more than one occasion. But before Lizzie was able to tick off the next item on her list, renting a huge tent and grill to be set up on the property by the loch, Archie entered the kitchen amid all of the commotion.

"What's everyone doing and where's Lizzie?"

Jumping off the stool and into sight, Lizzie waved goodbye to the others. "C'mon, I'll explain on the way to the car." She coaxed her brother quickly down the hall, whispering, "Now listen, don't get cross, but Paul is planning something for Allie."

"Allie? You mean that American woman? What on earth for? What's he got to do with her?"

"Sunday is Orthodox Easter, Archie." He stopped at the top of a flight of stairs, shrugging his shoulders while Lizzie descended to the bottom. She waited for him to reach her before continuing. "It's the holiday that she, and also my Jimmy celebrate. They had this long talk up at the church last night—Paul and Allie, I mean. It must have been so romantic, candles set all about."

"Paul and Allie?"

"Yes. She's a very long way from home and family, Archie. But this isn't such a big deal and Jimmy is going to help, too." Archie pointed to the vehicle they were taking to the cemetery. Both seated, Lizzie resumed, "You know Jimmy was going to miss spending Easter with his relatives this year because he'd already made plans to meet us up here and even though he didn't complain about it, I know he was a little upset. So this will work out for everyone. He's bringing up the lamb because he knows what piece is the best to buy and all of that, oh and some music. We can have the pipes playing in one corner and…Archie, this is exactly what this family needs right now."

Archie backed the truck out of the driveway and started heading down a winding path. They drove along for a bit without talking then Lizzie, a bit punchy, her mind compromised from lack of sleep and still preoccupied with things she needed to do before Sunday, asked her brother a question off the cuff. She hadn't really intended to be funny, hadn't expected to start anything, just to goad him with a sibling jab as any older sister would have done.

"So, how long has Lexie been sleeping on the nursery couch?"

The question stung Archie as if he'd been slapped in the face. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes glued to the road. "When we're together, we argue."

"Right, at least if you're arguing, you're communicating," She laughed at her own statement. "Seriously though, staying apart and avoiding each other isn't doing either of you a bit of good. Babies can pick up on tension between their parents, you know."

"Back off, Lizzie."

"Archie, I'm only saying."

"Lizzie you can't just show up here once in a blue moon and you know what, forget it. Let's not do this now."

What had started out as friendly teasing was promising to escalate into a full-blown argument and although Lizzie wasn't prepared to put up her dukes, she laced up anyway, getting into position in her corner of the ring. "No, please baby brother; say what's on your mind."

"You're just not here so you don't know what's going on. You come here all sanctimonious—you're in a good relationship, whoopee! Roll out the red carpet, toss up some fireworks, Lizzie MacDonald's in town!" Ding-ding. Round one.

"Sanctimonious? You are mad, aren't you? You're mad because I wasn't here. That's what it all boils down to, doesn't it? You say everything's fine, don't worry about it Lizzie, Mother and I understand but deep down inside you still harbor a grudge against me for letting you handle dad's funeral all by yourself."

"The funeral, you think I'm upset about Father's funeral? What are you talking about? I'm not two years old, Lizzie. I handled things just fine."

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing." Lizzie grabbed the steering wheel. "Lizzie what the hell are you playing at?"

"What is it, Archie? Tell me, Arch!"

"Where have you been all along, huh," Archie exploded.

"I could never have stayed here and you know it, I would have suffocated. But while we're playing tit for tat, here's one for you. You couldn't wait to get out of here either, could you? Um yup, I seem to recall the _The Flying Fish_, was it? And let's see, that was your restaurant, wasn't it? And that was in London, right?"

"What's your point?"

"We're the same, Archie, you and me. We both left all this behind. We ran away from Glenbogle and all its trappings. But you chose to come back."

"No, no, I didn't choose to come back," Archie was furious now, yelling at the top of his lungs, "That decision was made _for_ me. I was forcedback here, Lizzie. I was forced to come back because I thought Father," Archie veered the truck over to the side of the road and stopped, shifting into park. "I thought father was on his death bed."

Lizzie looked away from her brother. "Yet you stayed."

"Argh! This is ridiculous!"

"It's not, Archie. Whatever is bothering you, let's have it out now!"

"We're supposed to be visiting father's gravesite, Lizzie." Archie got out of the truck, although the cemetery was still quite a bit down the road.

"Now, Archie!" Lizzie demanded, following him, huffing and puffing; she leaned against the vehicle's front grille and banged her hand down hard on the hood.

"Okay, you really want to do this now? Why do you blame me for Jamie's death?"

"What?" The question came as a surprise to her.

"You do. You can deny it, but I've known all these years, you've blamed me, just as much as I've blamed myself. In fact, that's how I knew I was justified in blaming myself because you felt the same way."

"Jamie's death was an accident. I don't blame you Archie, honestly, I don't. And I never knew you blamed yourself! That's crazy. Listen to me. It wasn't your fault!"

"Tosh!"

"It wasn't," Lizzie approached her brother, but he turned away. "I don't hold you responsible for Jamie's death but need I remind you? I lost a brother, too. Jamie was my older brother, too."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you think I've grieved for his loss? Don't you think that not a day goes by where I don't think about him? Where Martha will do something that is so Jamie-like and still to this day I want to ring him up and tell him and I realize I can't? We all hurt, Archie. Our family was wounded, broken and nothing in the world could ever mend that for us. And it's even more so, now. But the idea that you're the only one who suffered? Maybe it is guilt that's made you feel this way but you've nothing to be guilty for. It was an accident, pure and simple. You must acknowledge too, that Mother and Father lost a son, that Ilost a dear brother and that we still have each other. As your sister and closest kin I'll say what everyone's been too afraid to say to you, get over this oh woe is meattitude. Not for me or for Mother, but for you. You have a wife and daughter to consider now. So stop being so selfish."

Dazed and with nothing to say in response, Archie stormed back to the truck. Lizzie was letting her own words filter through her head. She meant everything she had said but somehow the same advice didn't apply to her. Her father's death had been an accident, too. The situation was different, unlike with Archie and Jamie. She knew he felt responsible for their brother's death because he was there. Archie had been there. Why was she feeling so guilty about her father? Why did she feel so responsible?

***************

They continued driving along the road until they reached the church and cemetery. Lizzie walked up to the small family plot that was sectioned off with low wrought-iron fencing. She placed the posy of flowers she had picked from her mother's garden at the base of the headstone and then stood back. Her eyes filled with tears and she squeezed them shut tight to clear them so she could read the wording etched into the stone, running her fingers over the lettering: HECTOR NAISMITH MACDONALD, 1937-2001. There were no sounds about except the wind gusting wildly through the area, picking at her hair and long, flowy skirt and a flock of birds in the distance chirping out different tunes, their trills insisting, annoyingly, that they did not have any cares in the world. She remembered those rare childhood days spent with her father when he'd take them sledding all day down one of the snowy hills on Ben Bogle and then, come late afternoon they'd all pile back to the house for Mother's hot cocoa with peppermint sticks for stirring, nestling together around the library fireplace, a happy, contented family and time. And in the spring and summer, she being a tomboy—she had the scarred knees to prove it, she recalled daring her brother's to race her down the length of the beach, their father popping a cap gun to start off the competition, cheering them all on equally, although deep-down she knew he was pulling for his daughter to win, he was most impressed by his little lady's temerity. She got that spunk from him.

Lizzie pulled the sleeve of her sweater down over her hand and used the heel of her palm to brush off the silt and dirt accumulated on the angled surfaces of the headstone. She thought back to her last visit and how behind the times her father was, being disappointed in Lizzie for having a baby out of wedlock. How she knew Archie was one of the major reasons for helping to turn around her father's way of thinking. How ultimately proud her father was of the birth of his first grandchild, despite everything he'd put her through, honored and appreciative that Lizzie had chosen to give her baby his mother's name, blessing her child with the sacred, loch water. What had Lexie called it, the circle of life? Indeed.

As she stared at the unkempt plot of grass and the patches of spring-green moss creeping up the sides of the stone, she couldn't get past the feeling that her father wasn't really there. Yes, she was paying homage to his memory at this spot, but all that remainedwas his decaying body. Here, her irascible, quirky, good-natured father was just a withering skeleton. His spirit and soul were amongst the living. It could be found in the ebb and flow of the shimmering loch, in the veins of the flowering garden, in the grass and on the beach—which both bore the imprints of his terrible golf game, and more importantly, in their hearts.

"I'll walk back," Lizzie spoke without turning to face her brother.

"You can stay as long as you'd like, Lizzie. I'll wait for you in the truck."

"I'll walk back, thank you."

Archie hesitated at first then acquiesced, "Fine." Slowly he made his way down the incline of the hill.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

_**Martha My Love**_

Being such a mild day Allie decided to sit outside to wait for Paul—and the wooden bench set kitty-corner under the huge maple in the small square of grass at the front of the B & B seemed the perfect spot. She hadn't really expected to hear from him at all on Thursday, but she had. Dozing in the lounge around 7pm she had heard a phone ringing in the distance and Liz's voice talking from her office saying things such as, _"…she could have broken her ankle…"_ and _"…you should have paid more heed…maybe that's how they do things in Yorkshire, but it certainly wasn't how they treated visitors here in the Highlands…" _

Accepting his call, Allie felt a little awkward talking on the phone especially knowing, spying the misshapen figure of her shadow stretched across the hall floor and wall, Liz was listening on the other side of the door. She'd actually wished he'd shown up in person but then again it wouldn't have been such a graceful sight seeing her reclining with her leg stuck up in the air. Paul was all apologetic, explaining how he hadn't realized how badly she'd been hurt and although Allie reassured him that her situation wasn't nearly as bad as Liz had made it out to be she was moved by his sentiment, appreciating his offer to bring her anything she might need or want. But the real object of his call was to invite her for lunch at the _Ghillie's Rest_ that Friday afternoon. What she hadn't realized was that they weren't going to be dining alone.

_**Glenbogle**_

Lizzie and Martha accepted a ride to the pub from Lexie seeing as Archie's schedule, in his haughty words was much too busy to allow for lunching out mid-week and Molly, though not quite the joy-ride that Donald was anticipating, agreed to ride along with him, cutting through the dusty roads in the open body of his speedster—which thankfully for Molly would only be for a short distance. Word had gone out for Duncan and Golly to join the lot too, even if all they could spare time for was a quick pint and a small packet of crisps.

_**The Ghillie's Rest**_

Allie tried her best not to be a spoil-sport, which, considering she wasn't sitting anywhere near Paul was difficult to do at first but all was certainly made easier as his family and the townsfolk were a lovely bunch being both friendly and welcoming. Along with laughing at Donald's well-worn jokes, testing her eye-hand coordination in a game of darts with Duncan and even captivating Martha with a story she'd spun from the top of her head she found herself actually having a wonderful time, even buying another round of drinks despite their loud protestations that the gesture wasn't at all necessary.

But there was still that undercurrent of uncertainty lying just beneath the surface, tainting her good time and clouding her mind with doubt. What if she'd read Paul all wrong or had mistaken their connection for something more than it really was. That he, like the umpteen other men she'd met before simply saw her as good friend potential. She seemed to fit so nicely into that vague and neutral category of companion, someone to pal around with and bring to casual parties or to weekend sporting events, a permanent stand-in when no one else would do. She knew she should not be dwelling on these feelings as doing so would only tear her confidence to shreds. But still, she could not stop herself.

Once in her mid-twenties Allie asked a close, platonic male friend if she was pretty, having him rate her on a scale of one to ten. Almost the instant the words escaped her mouth she wished she could have retracted them, fearing that his ability to be honest would be compromised, therefore leaving her even more confused. But she needn't have been worried for his answer was concise and complete, as if he'd thought through this very question about her many times before. _"You're a solid five,"_ he informed her in all seriousness, _"with the potential for becoming at least a six or a seven, if only you'd stop giving that look."_ He'd also mentioned something about her eyes but Allie had tuned him out, obsessing about 'thelook'_. _He was absolutely right, and she knew it, for it had been brought to her attention many times before by various females in her life whom she trusted. What they didn't understand was that it was for her protection, a sort of subconscious system to help assure that only those with a genuine interest in her who were willing to approach, despite the icy façade, would be allowed access to her world. It would never have occurred to her, of course, that she might be wrong.

As she took a moment to refocus, glancing around the darkly stained board and batten walls of the pub, she noticed pictures—all hanging slightly askew—of sepia-toned images frozen in time behind smudged glass, yellowed maps of the land secured with rusty thumbtacks and a few antique hand tools and relics of the past and also Paul. More precisely she caught him staring at her. He was standing across the room near the bar, apparently in conversation with the older gentleman Allie seemed to recall was named Golly, but his eyes were on her, a goofy, lopsided smile plastered on his lips. When their eyes met he didn't look away immediately but instead kept his stare fixed, the whole time nodding his head in an m-hmm fashion—perhaps to be polite, before eventually returning to his chat. Chancing to look once again this time it wasn't Paul who returned Allie's glance but Golly, giving her a quick smile and an encouraging wink. And all Allie found she could do, was smile back.

*********

Their informal get-together having gone on longer than any of them had expected it would, the group began to disband but not before Allie was invited back to the Big House on Sunday for what she thought was going to be a traditional Sunday dinner. Not wishing to intrude on a family meal, she began begging off the request, trying to think of a plausible excuse not to attend, but Molly would hear none of it, insisting that all along she'd had in mind to ask her to join them. Molly's arguments were very persuasive and though still a tad bit reluctant, Allie thought about how much she missed her own family who would celebrating the Easter holiday together and in the end, promised she'd be there.

Paul was secretly grateful that Allie had accepted and that Molly had done the asking for herself, better to let them both think it had been Molly's idea all along, for he didn't wish to appear too eager, running before walking would possibly scare Allie away and that wasn't at all what he wanted.

*********

"Thank you for coming today," Paul said to Allie as they walked out of the _Ghillie's Rest_ together. They were standing on the front porch waving goodbye to the rest.

"Thanks for inviting me."

"I would have preferred it to have just been the two of us but that's not really the MacDonald way and it was Molly's idea."

"Well, that would have been nice too, but," Allie flashed him her dimple, wanting to say they would hopefully be plenty of other opportunities for them to get together, just the two of them, but she didn't. "I had a great time all the same."

"Do you need to get back or…"

"No, I'm free," she kicked herself for speaking up so quickly.

"Well I thought we might take a walk if you're up to it what with your sore ankle and all."

Allie laughed and flexed her foot back and forth, "Everything seems to be in working order," she glanced up at the sky, "and it doesn't look like any storms are rolling in so, I think it's safe."

They walked for a bit, talking, teasing, laughing and even holding hands until eventually they came to a clearing where huge boulders, oval in shape and smooth to the touch changed the landscape. And just below these massive stones Allie could hear the sound of rushing water. Letting go of Paul's hand, she raced forward, smiling uncontrollably and laughing out loud like a young child. The sight was so breath-taking; she recognized it immediately as the waterfall Duncan had been standing in front of in his Aunt's picture. Reaching the metal rail—that had obviously been put in place for city-folk like herself who were new to seeing the wondrous curiosities of Mother Nature first hand and thus abandoned any sense of safety—she leaned way over, feeling a spray of water against her skin, the air much cooler near the flowing stream.

It reminded her of the island she used to visit with her father and grandfather when she was young. She remembered leaning over that rail too; it was painted a deep green, with knobs sticking up with just enough space in between for a youngster's tiny fingers to fit. She'd grasp hold of the cold bar, feeling scared but at the same time compelled to look over the edge of the wall into the depths of the dark water below, listening to it slosh and slap up against the stone slabs, the smell of salt, suntan lotion and greasy food mingling together and sitting heavy on the air. Closing her eyes against the wind drifting off the Scottish loch just as she had once braced herself against the breezes that would waft off the bay on even the hottest days, caressing her face and hair, she felt Paul gently stroking her cheek. He drew her near to him. The loud sound of the crashing and splashing waterfall was being drowned out by the sound of her own heart hammering in her chest. Thump, thump, thump. And then they kissed.

Fireworks were for movies and daydreams and works of fiction. Or so this practical, straight-laced, way-too-serious woman had always thought. But she'd never been kissed by the likes of Paul Bowman.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

Jimmy K's arrival was more welcomed than expected seeing that Molly now felt a bond with him, a common interest in all matters Greek which was his through birth and Molly's through caprice. That he seemed to be the perfect match for Lizzie and truly appeared to make her daughter and granddaughter happy would occur to her much later.

But some things didn't change. Friday evening, Lexie still went to sleep in the nursery. Saturday morning, Lizzie was still unsettled about her father.

******

Saturday afternoon the MacDonald's gathered informally in the drawing room for tea. Archie and Lexie found themselves sitting at opposite ends of the window seat, while Donald and Molly sat in a pair of wing chairs set by the fire. Lizzie and Jimmy were tastefully canoodling on a small settee and Paul, who had far too much nervous energy to burn, was constantly jumping up to fetch this and that. And Martha, who'd been lying on the floor with a box of crayons and a coloring book, stopped for a moment to nibble on a fairy cake.

"Oh Mummy," her mouth full, Martha picked at a crumb that had fallen onto her dress, "I'm meant to give you a message."

"A message," Lizzie focused all of her attention on her daughter, "from whom?"

"From the nice old man I met today."

"What nice old man, honey? Do you mean Donald?" Lizzie pointed to Donald, who shrugged, feigning insult at being called old.

Martha leaned over to see who she'd pointed to. "No, no, no, Mummy, not him!"

"Maybe she means Golly?" Lizzie looked questioningly at her mother and Archie. "Was it Golly, Poppet?"

"I saw Golly yesterday at the restaurant, Mummy. He shared his prawn crisps with me!"

"Yes, you're right, he did. So was it Golly who gave you the message?"

"Nope," Martha rolled back onto her stomach to resume coloring. "I've never seen this man before."

Lizzie, as well as everyone else, was becoming a little more concerned. "Where did you see him then?"

"Upstairs."

"Darling, could you please put down your crayons and come here and tell Mummy exactly what happened?"

"Okay, Mummy." Martha stood, pushed some curly locks of brown hair behind her ears and took a deep breath, relaying her story very matter-of-factly. "I was playing with Cousin Hazel in the nurs-ry. Uncle Archie told me he needed to get something but he was going to be back in two seconds," she held up two fingers then glanced at her uncle, who verified that this had happened. "That's when the old man came to the door. He said, 'Martha my love'," the youngster spoke these words in a deeper tone to indicate a male voice, "and that's what grandma always calls me, Martha my love. So I knew the man was a friend. I wasn't afraid, Mummy. He said, 'Can you give your Mummy a message for me?' and I said yes and he said, 'Tell your Mummy that it's okay.' He asked me if I could remember that and I said yes, because I'm five. Then I asked the man if he wanted to play, but he said no. He said, 'Goodbye, Martha my love.' He blew me a kiss and then he blew one to Cousin Hazel, too. I waved goodbye to him and then he made himself so that I couldn't see him anymore."

Lizzie couldn't bring herself to say anything. Martha reached out to her, placing her arms around her mother's neck. "That's all, that's the whole story. There were no dragons or knights Mummy, honest!" On the table behind Lizzie were a few framed photos of the family. Martha saw one and screamed excitedly, "That's him, Mummy! That's the man I saw today! He's right there." She had pointed to a picture of Hector. "Mummy, do you think if we ask Ewan really nicely, he'll make fish fingers for dinner tonight? I love fish fingers."

"Yes," Lizzie's mind was scattered.

"C'mon, Marth, why don't we go and ask Ewan together," Jimmy offered, scooping up Martha in his arms and carrying her out of the room.

At first no one dared to speak. "That couldn't have been Father."

"Why ever not, Lizzie," replied Molly, unquestioning her granddaughter's story.

"No there's got to be another explanation."

"You, Lizzie—the most free-minded and spirited of us all don't believe in…"

"Ghosts? No, Uncle Donald, I don't."

"I was going to say in mystical things, occurrences. They do happen you know. I'm surprised you have doubts."

"I think it is possible Father has sent you a message, Lizzie. It's his way of saying goodbye to you." Archie thought back to his own ethereal visit from his father, who'd kissed him on the forehead and waved a final goodbye. How he thought he'd left him the Glenbogle Rose on his nightstand. He'd never told anyone of the experience.

"No. Why not appear to me then, instead of Martha, for goodness sakes!" Thinking her cousin to be a level-headed if not skeptical person, Lizzie turned to him. "Paul, what do you think?"

"I think you should have faith."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

_**The Conclusion**_

Though early—Paul wasn't scheduled to pick up Allie until half past twelve—she was too excited to wile away her time lying in bed. She'd thought about doing some writing, sitting with her fingers poised above her laptop's keyboard—she'd never become accustomed to typing on such a tiny surface, but the words were not flowing. Clicking a few buttons she pulled up one of her saved music libraries and chose a hymn, the lively Byzantine Paschal Troparian sung just after the priest or bishop has lit the first candle, sharing it with the congregation as the flame is passed along candle by candle, everyone united, signifying the commencement of Pashca. Pushing the repeat button and turning up the volume as high as it would go, she fished around in her leather satchel for her journal, flipping it open to a page being held by the Glenbogle postcard, she stared at an entry from the evening before, just two words jotted on the page; we kissed.

Knowing Paul at least fancied her, she was dismayed that the gathering that afternoon would probably not be as informal as the one held at the _Ghillie's Rest_ that past Friday. She figured they'd be served drinks from cut crystal glasses in the formal drawing room, have a 10-courseseated dinner around the formal dining room table in those stiff, high-backed chairs whose padding had become nearly petrified, their best china laid out, the cutlery properly polished and placed, leaving no room for relaxing and kicking back, no room for private conversations. The MacDonald's seemed to be salt-of-the-earth kind of people—sharing pints with the locals and including their staff in family celebrations but there was no question that though Glenbogle may have been in shambles, they still considered themselves as part of the gentry class—for that was where Hector's clan had hailed from and judging from what Liz had told her, the life of privilege Molly had also come from as well.

Deciding to shower, Allie gathered her toiletries and headed to the loo.

_**Glenbogle Estate**_

There was a knock on Molly's bedroom door. "Come in, I'm decent," she trilled.

"Was that really necessary?" Lizzie entered, heading straight to the chaise, plopping down on it heavily.

"I'm sorry?"

"Saying that you were decent, I mean."

"Well it _is_ my boudoir. Oh Lizzie, my dearest middle-born child," Molly ran her fingers through her daughter's hair then hugged her around the shoulders, "Lighten up!"

"Mother, please!"

"Lizzie you are caught in some sort of a limbo here, I understand that but life must go on."

"So that's it. That's your advice, that's what you've done, is it? You've gotten on with your life. Forget poor ol' dad, huh? Oh that Hector, he was a dear, but you know."

"Forget Hector? Lizzie I could never forget your father he was a part of me."

"Yet I still see you flirting with Donald and with Golly even."

"Donald? Oh Lizzie, please. Don't talk such nonsense. That was a long time ago."

"Whatwas a long time ago? Did you and Uncle Donald ever have a thing for each other? No on second thought don't tell me, I don't think I want to know the answer."

"Wait a second dear; I'm trying to gauge the look of horror on you face," Molly joshed, "Are you repulsed or happily shocked?" Lizzie tried to protest once again. "Listen, what happens or haspreviouslyhappened in my love life is my personal business. I've not now taken up with Donald or any other chap for that matter. Your uncle and I may tease each other because, at least for me, it brings me back to my youth. Flirting makes me feel young again and wanted."

"Wanted? Mother, you are wanted."

"Yes, Lizzie as a mother and grandmother, counselor, advisor, boss, yes, all true and I dofeel I'm respected and appreciated in those capacities. But as a person sometimes I hope for more. You see, Hector was my more for or over forty years, and now who is there for me?"

Lizzie looked around the room, "Where's the portrait?"

"What portrait?"

"The one you painted of father."

"Lizzie, you never saw that portrait."

"I know I never saw it mother but you had told me all about it before you started painting it. You said you were nervous about getting it just right. Archie told me you had hung it in a place of honor on the wall by the stair landing but it's not there!"

"No, I had it taken down."

"Why?"

"Lizzie, I don't know," Molly wrung her hands together and paced the floor.

"I want to see it, mother. I want to see the portrait."

"Why? It won't ease the guilt."

"Oh Mother, how could you?"

"I'm sorry, Lizzie. We all felt some sense of remorse on your father's passing. Things left unsaid and all of that. But the truth of the matter is we don't know what's in the cards for each of us. We don't know when our time is up until it's too late. Why had we waited so long to say things to one another? If I'd known that that particular day was going to be the last day I'd ever see my husband again but of course, I didn't and I was so angry at him for dying so foolishly and needlessly and for leaving me before I was ready to let go of him. But I have let go, Lizzie. Understand that. I've come to terms with it and I believe Archie has too and now you have to find your own way." Molly took her daughter's face in her hands. "Martha is prone to fantasy and has the capability of imagining all sorts of fanciful stories, we both know that. But she's also a child and children seem to be more open and accepting of things," Molly searched for the right words, "of things that maybe can't be so easily explained. But I knew Hector's heart, Lizzie. Heis okay with you. Everything's squared. I'm absolutely certain of it."

_**B & B, Glenbogle Village**_

Allie was ready. It was 12:05 and she was all ready to go. She_'_d been ready since 11:30 but had waited until noon to start taking furtive glances out the window of her B & B room which overlooked the front walkway.

She checked her Movado, the tiny gold arms set on the blank black face, a 30-something-odd birthday gift from her favorite Aunt, indicating it was roughly 12:10. Allie broke into a huge smile. She'd often heard that opposites attract, if one wanted to find the perfect mate one should look for the yang that completed one's yin. But what did they know. As she watched the blue Glenbogle pick-up truck pull up out front, she was tickled pink that Paul was twenty minutes early or—right on time.

Allie was able to greet Paul at the door without any interruptions as Liz had gone out for the day. Making sure to lock the door securely behind her, Allie made her way to the truck. Watching him walk around to the driver's side after shutting her door, Allie realized that she'd never really seen him without his leather jacket on. Even in the _Ghillie's Rest_ he'd worn an anorak over his clothing. She was impressed with his outfit, a deep blue shirt worn with the shirttails out over a nice pair of jeans, an ensemble accentuating his long, lean and muscular frame.

"I half expected to find you in a kilt."

"Oh and why's that?" Paul held his head up, looking down his nose at her, his eyebrows raised.

"Am I not being invited to a special MacDonald family dinner? Or do I and your cousin's boyfriend not rate highly enough to be treated to a bagpipe serenade and other fanfare?"

"Well," Paul had to think quickly. Allie had no idea that they were going to be sitting outside under a tent. Or that they were going to set up the food buffet-style at Jimmy's knowledgeable request, _just like at a real ethnic picnic, _Paul had recalled him saying.

"Aw, I'm kidding," Allie had come to the rescue. "I was just hoping to catch a glimpse of your knobby knees or anything else that might be revealed with the help of a strong breeze!" Paul laughed out loud, the comment catching him off-guard.

And this is how their banter went, back and forth for most of the ride. As they began to approach the long drive to the estate, an area Allie was starting to become very familiar with, a questioning look slipped across her face. She began sniffing the air, rolling down the window.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked, afraid she was getting car sick.

"I am 100% sure that I smell roasting lamb."

"Lamb, nope, I'm quite sure that lamb wasn't on Ewan's menu for today. I think there may be some Crofter's Stew and maybe some poached salmon, definitely haggis…"

Allie was falling in love.

**********

Paul guided Allie through the wrought-iron gate to the loch-side of the house, the very same area Duncan had brought her to when she'd met Molly early on the Saturday morning the week before. The area had been completely transformed with a huge white tent, tables set with festive touches and flowers from the garden.

"Welcome, Allie!" Molly shouted in her direction while the others waved.

Lizzie approached her with Martha in tow and someone else whom Allie assumed was her boyfriend. "Allie, I'd like you to meet my friend, Dhimitri Katsopoulos."

Jimmy stepped forward, "As I'm sure you've already guessed," he laughed, "I'm Greek and I'm Orthodox too. And you can call me…"

"Jimmy?" Allie said.

"Yes, figured you'd know that! Enjoy the festivities."

**********

Underneath a huge tent which faced the loch was a long table set with all kinds of traditional Easter fare including big pieces of spinach pie, feta cheese, and a traditional egg salad made with Easter eggs—Allie could see faint traces of the red dye on the white parts—oil and vinegar, salt and pepper. Projected on a higher section of the tent's flap just behind the table were Molly's pictures from her trip to Greece playing in a continuous loop. Allie was glad to see that someone had helped Molly with this project and wondered whether or not it had been her son. Archie had never warmed up to her, he'd been polite enough but still, she refused to think it was she who'd done something to offend him, for she'd felt his cold shoulder from the very beginning. But she also thought it very arrogant of her to assume, though it was entirely possible, that whatever marital problems or otherwise he'd been experiencing were spilling over into other areas of his life, and thus choosing Allie as his target for of all of his bad feelings, it wasn't really her that he'd a problem with after all. Allie also enjoyed watching how Archie's cousin interacted with everyone there. Paul's manner was pleasant and genuine, tenderly asking Molly if she was in need of anything, paling around with Lizzie's boyfriend, and even teasing Martha mercilessly.

Paul approached Allie, "Well, what do you think?"

"I think this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Aw," Paul reacted modestly, "Lizzie played a big part in the planning seeing as Jimmy was going to be away from his family too and then Molly was really up for the idea of course."

"Paul," he looked at Allie straight on, "Thank you."

Leaning in close to each other, Allie slid her hand across Paul's knee. Placing an arm around her waist he slowly pulled her towards him. She could feel his energy, sense his longing to touch her. "Your eyes are the shade of amber honey," he whispered softly in her ear, nuzzling her neck with his nose. He kissed her delicately on her cheek and lightly on her rosy lips. Allie breathed deeply, taking in his sweet, musky scent, she could feel herself getting warm and blushing, raising her parted lips to his. Then the music started playing.

**********

"Opa!" Jimmy had started the first line dance, pulling Allie with him onto the section of parquet flooring set up specifically for this purpose. Ewan had thrown him a white cloth napkin which he swung adeptly in his right hand, holding it high above his head. Allie, her left arm held behind her back as she formed the end of this very short line, kept right up with the beat of the ethnic music, swooshing forward and back with intricate steps, never once looking down at her feet. By the third song, nearly all were up dancing, attempting the steps, swaying and making mistakes, moving forward when the line was heading back and all the while laughing uncontrollably.

**********

By the time dessert was offered everyone was completely knackered. Jimmy and Lizzie had taken Martha down to the loch, Lexie had gone inside with Hazel and Archie and Molly had sought out cups of coffee.

Allie wandered off to the side. Realizing she'd left the area, Paul followed after her.

"Hi," Paul sat beside her on a boulder, placing his body slightly behind hers to shield her from the cool wind. "What's happened to your smile?"

"I was just thinking," Allie looked out over the loch.

"About?" Paul fluttered his fingers over Allie's hand and a portion of her arm—normally something she loved, it was too distracting now.

Taking his hand in hers, she looked up at him, "I'm eventually going to have to return home, back to the US."

"I don't really want to think about that right now, Allie."

"I don't either but I mean is thatsomething we should be thinking about?" He pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face.

"Golly!" They heard Molly scream. A loud clatter had erupted by the house.

"I'm sorry, Allie, I need to see what's going on." Paul took off across the sand, quickly scaling the short bank to the grassy area. Up ahead he could see Archie trying to pull Golly away from something or someone and then he realized it was his father. Golly had Donald by the collar, pushing his thumbs into Donald's windpipe, making it hard for him to breath.

"Golly, what on earth do you think you're doing? Stop it this instance," Molly implored of the ghillie.

Archie managed to separate the two men, pulling Golly back.

"Tell her," Donald choked, his face bright red and splotchy. Golly, hyped up on liquor and feeling quite ashamed, remained silent. "Damn you, man! Tell her!" Donald spit out the words fiercely again. "It's you Molly! It's always been you," Donald gasped, turning his head toward the house, stumbling slightly.

"Dad, dad, stop," Paul chased after his father, "Are you all right?"

Stopping briefly, trying to sooth his chafed neck, Donald realized how his son had finally addressed him, "Yes, son, yes I'll be fine."

********

_**Dr. Morgan's Office, Glenbogle Village**_

Nearly a week later and things all around still hadn't been sorted out. Donald, feeling a bit more tired than usual decided to make an appointment to see Dr. Morgan for a physical. No cause for alarm he'd try to assure himself, just a general poking and prodding to make sure everything was in good working order.

*****

"So Donald, we should have all of your test results by the end of the week. I'll ring you up and we can arrange for another appointment."

"Grand! I have to keep myself in tip-top shape. My son's been seeing this lovely creature from the states. I can't have him upstaging me, now can I?"

"Your son, you say?"

"Yes. Oh believe me, when I found out I was just as shocked as you appear to be. But we're slowly getting used to the idea, getting to know one another more and more each day. He's living at Glenbogle, too."

"How was it discovered that you were his father?"

"He searched for me, came to the highlands to find me. All the way from Yorkshire he came, with just a rucksack on his back. Can you imagine that?"

"Did he have any proof that he was your son?"

"Proof? Well, no I mean we didn't exactly have any hard scientific evidence, no."

"So you've never taken a paternity test then?"

"No we've never had a paternity test done, but I had no reason to doubt him. It was a bit of a sticky tale really, in the end however it had all made sense, the timing, the situation, everything. She, the lad's mother was a one-night-stand for me really—but I don't like to think about it in those terms."

Dr. Morgan went to a file cabinet, a pensive look overshadowing his face, wrinkling his forehead. He waded through the drawer of densely-packed manila folders until he came to the one he wanted. Tugging it free from the others, he rested it open across the drawer and then, licking his index finger, began thumbing through the pages, quickly scanning the contents, saying, ah-ha when he'd reached what he'd apparently been looking for.

"I'm afraid to tell you this—and I've just verified it by looking back in your records—but Donald you're sub-fertile."

"I'm sorry? I'm sub-what?"

"You're sub-fertile or infertile, Donald. Um, let me see if I can put this into layman's terms for you. You're shooting blanks. I regret to say, Donald, but short of some sort of miracle there's no way this man could be your son."

_**The End**_


End file.
